Blood Roses Each Morning
by Lazarus76
Summary: Historical AU. Arthur is a journalist sent to 1930s Berlin to report on the rise of the Third Reich - but a simple assignment becomes laced with intrigue and danger. Especially when a young Architecture student is involved, and a businessman determined to cut deals with the enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur sighed as he walked down Alexanderplatz, looking up at the street signs. An air of weariness seemed to hang over the city, an air of foreboding. Shrugging, he shouldered his case and continued. After a few more minutes, he arrived at an inconspicuous door, and rang the bell.

Waited. Moments later, the door opened, and a woman peeked out. "Frau Lehmann?" Arthur asked, politely. "Arthur Cavendish."

"Oh, yes!" Smiling effusively, she opened the door fully. "Come in, welcome!"

Arthur nodded, and entered. Her response to her American guest had been positive, and he suspected that concealing his real surname was part of the reason. As he entered the narrow hallway, she began to climb the stairs, and he followed her.

"Your room," she announced, opening the door. He nodded his thanks, and entered. As she turned to leave, she shot over her shoulder "dinner at eight."

"Thank you," he responded, as the door closed. As the door shut, he sat on the bed, and began to survey the room.

It was shabby, he decided. Stuffed with furniture that seemed too large and out of place. A monstrous wooden bedstead dominated the room, with a wardrobe and matching bureau also crammed in. He turned his head, noting the slightly chipped pitcher and jug sitting on top of the bureau. Gancing up, he raised an eyebrow.

A portrait of a man hung on the wall. A smooth, undistinguished looking face, the severity of the haircut and the boldness of the eyes making it stand out. Against his will, Arthur shuddered, trying to check the rising revulsion. Suddenly furious, he grabbed his case, opened it, and began to pull out his clothes, smoothing his travel wrinkled suits.

"Why did I agree to this?" he muttered. For a brief moment, he was homesick for New York - despite its dirt, problems, and depression, at least, he felt, it wasn't in the grip of a psychotic madman. And his braying acolytes.

Arthur paused, and began to reflect. 1933, the year Hitler grabbed power in Germany, two weeks after a fire gutted the Reichstag, leaving it a smoking wreck. In the same way the Great Depression had hollowed out the country, Arthur thought. Then, suddenly, this man, with his symbols and fiery rhetoric, had appeared from nowhere, promising to give everything back to the people. And whilst at first the rest of the world had dismissed him, the German people had not.

Arthur rubbed his forehead. He'd been happy working for the New York Times, as a domestic correspondent. Then, suddenly, Dom Cobb, Editor-in-Chief, had called him into his office. He'd agreed, and entered.

"Arthur," Dom said, affably. He was smiling, offering his hand. Arthur shook it, sitting opposite him at the roll top desk, cluttered with the paraphernalia of a busy newspaper editor. Press clippings were tossed on carelessly, with print outs and photographs. He looked at the younger man. "How would you feel about taking a trip?"

Arthur blinked. "Where to?"

"Germany. Berlin." Cobb was seated, his legs sprawling out in front of him. "Its an interesting situation out there at present. The National Socialists-"

"Nazis", Arthur interrupted. He raised an eyebrow. "The Nazis."

"Yes, allright, Nazis," Cobb said, hurriedly. "Well, its a huge scoop! How did they get to power? What are their intentions? How are they going to help the German people? We need to know!"

"Do we?" Arthur replied, almost shortly. A slightly sinking feeing was beginning to lodge itself in the pit of his stomach. "Do we, really?"

"Yes, Arthur." Cobb leaned forward. "This man- Hitler - he's convincing the German people. He's making them believe he's the Second Coming. How is that going to affect the world?"

"And you want me to find out?" Arthur asked, cautiously.

"I want you to do some investigation," Cobb countered, smiling. "I have a British contract in Berlin, who works for the Diplomatic Office - Edward Eames. " He handed Arthur a small card. "There is also a businessman who seems to be somewhat involved with the Nazi Party. Australian born, but has lived in America - Robert Fischer." He handed Arthur a newspaper clipping.

"So I'm to go to Berlin and-"

"See if you can infiltrate," Cobb interrupted. "You are no longer Arthur Ogilvie, you're Arthur Cavendish. A visiting professor. Interested in anthropology."

"Dom." Arthur scowled slightly. "Do I need a new name?"

"Arthur," Cobb said, gently, "your surname...you told me it Polish-Jewish. Have you heard what the Nazis are proposing racially?"

Arthur nodded, his mouth tense. "If they find out, they-"

"You're American, that will grant you protection," Cobb said, smoothly. "But just...be careful."

Stone faced, Arthur had got up, and taken his boat ticket.

And now, he reflected, he was here.

Sighing, he looked at his watch. It was 6pm - the time he would be meeting Edward Eames was 7pm. He had to go out, use the U-Bahn, and head towards the centre of the city.

He splashed his face with water, and checked his wallet for identity papers. He had heard how anyone could be stopped in the street and asked for identification. He shrugged into his jacket and began to leave, hoping he wouldn't run into the landlady.

As he left the building, he frowned. He noticed a young woman, dressed in a simple, stylish yellow dress, crossing the road, books cradled in her arms. As she stepped off the pavement, he noticed two young men in brownshirts approach her.

"Fraulein!"

She stopped, startled. They were both looking at her, leering. Arthur felt a rush of anger. Her eyes blinked uneasily, and he could see they were trying to intimidate her. He decided to step in.

"Hey!"

The two men turned at the bark of his voice. They watched as he strode over, confident in his stylish three piece. They looked at him, almost haughtily. He glared at them, and took her arm. "Come on."

Before either of them could react, he walked her across the road, holding her arm as though they were looked surprised, but as they reached the other side, relieved.

"Thank you," she said politely, and he blinked. "You're American too?" he asked, his voice coloured by surprise.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes." She bushed sightly. "But, thank you. I needed to get back to my lodging house- and those soldiers-"

He smiled at her, kindly. "Well, good day to you." He turned to leave, but as she walked away, he noticed something.

The lodging house she was approaching was his own. Turning, he quickened his pace, hurrying to meet Eames.

**Thank you for reading, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur watched the young woman as she opened the door and disappeared inside. Slightly shaken, he began to walk, heading towards the U-Bahn to meet the mysterious Mr Eames. His destination was a bar off the Mulenstrabe, and it would take him half an hour to get there.

As he walked to the U-Bahn, he shivered. Two men dressed in black, with glinting silver stripes, were loitering by the entrance. Members of the SS. He kept walking, his hand going instinctively to his passport and ID. The SS officers merely stood there, watching him as he headed down the steps. He shivered slightly, suddenly feeling cold in his three piece despite the warmth of the late evening sun.

He'd heard rumours of the SS. The most trained and the most sadistic of the Nazis' soldiers. He hurried on down to the U-Bahn, relieved as he saw a train pulling up to the platform. As he got on, he watched his fellow passengers. Most of them seemed uninterested in him, preferring to look elsewhere. He watched as the citizens of Berlin shuffled, an air of weariness hanging over them.

He frowned. A miasma appeared to be hanging over the entire city, as though some impenetrable cloud was forming, beginning to settle. He shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. As the train rolled into the station, he got off, heading for the exit.

He checked the piece of paper with the address on - the Crescent Bar, no 6. He began to walk down the Mulenstrabe, and after a few minutes, he found it. Entering, he noticed that to reach the bar he had to go downstairs. As he walked down, he heard the door shut behind him. He pushed open another door, and entered.

To his surprise, the space was friendly and welcoming. Groups of people sat around small tables, nursing cigarettes and glasses. There was a smattering of University students - whom he suspected had come to discuss the current situation away from prying eyes and ears. He noticed there were other people sitting and talking, and a lone gentleman at a table near the back, dressed in mismatching jacket and shirt.

He swallowed, and approached him. "How is London Bridge?"

Mischieovous grey eyes turned and faced Arthur. "Burning down." He got up, satisfied the coded greeting had been met, and offered a hand. "Eames."

Arthur took his hand and shook it. "Arthur Cavendish."

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Real name?"

"No," Arthur whispered.

Eames nodded. "I see. Have a seat." He offered the other chair. As he sat down, a waitress plodded over to them. She smiled at Arthur, who looked at Eames. "Bier, zwie" Eames instructed. She nodded and walked back to the bar.

"Two beers," the Englishman said, leaning back against his chair. "Danke," he added, as the glasses of foaming amber liquid were placed in front of them. He reached for one, picked it up, and took a sip, then turned back to Arthur.

"So, what do you know about the situation here?"

Arthur looked down into the glass, and licked his bottom lip. "I-is it safe to talk here?"

"Yes," Eames said, nodding. "This is a place where those who hold slightly unpalatable views come." He waved his arm in the direction of one table. "Students, communists...but its important to know what they are thinking. Especially as you can't say it anywhere else."

Arthur nodded. "I see."

"Do you?" Eames turned to him, frowning slightly. "Arthur - you can call me Eames- this is a dangerous time. People are always being watched." He took another sip of beer. "Someone could always report you."

Arthur blinked, and frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Dissent is not tolerated," Eames stated, a weary acceptance colouring his words. "I have heard of people complaining in shops about the price of milk, only to find themselves questioned by soldiers. I've heard of parents refusing to let their children join the Hitler Youth, only to finds themselves arrested as traitors of the Reich."

"Oh." Arthur swallowed. "I didn't realise-"

"No, you won't, not unless you're here." Eames grabbed his beer glass. "At the moment, we're processing hundreds of applications a day to leave this country. People frightened who know they have not got a future here. They want to go to Britain, America, Sweden, Holland - anywhere were they think they will be safe."

"Anyone in particular?" Arthur asked, carefully. Eames looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "Mostly Jews." He paused, to let the words sink in. "Hitler has decided to blame them for Germany's disarray. He claims that the Treaty of Versailles was signed by Jewish politicians, thus Germany's disarnament, economic debt, everything - the fault of the Jews."

"I see," Arthur mumbled. Eames surveyed him. "What's your real name?"

"Ogilvie," Arthur said, quietly. "My father is Jewish. Polish Jewish. My mother is American."

"Is that on your passport?"

"No, I have a -" he paused, his face colouring - "new one."

"Good." Eames raised an eyebrow. "Being a foreigner only grants you the thinnest of protection. Antagonise them and they'll throw you out - if they discover you're Jewish, they'll make your life very unpleasant."

"And if you..." his voice trailed off.

"If you what?"

"I saw two...brownshirts hassling a girl." Arthur swallowed, his face flushing. "I went to help her, and-"

Eames winced. "You nearly got into a fight?"

"I-" Arthur paused. "Not, exactly."

"Arthur." Eames frowned. "You need to be inconspicuous. There is only a certain amount of protection you can be granted." He leaned forward. "The Nazis have different ideas regarding the role of women than in America or Britain. They believe that women should only care for husband and children- the idea of building the Reich." Arthur blinked, and Eames got up. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"You're a journalist, aren't you?" Eames looked at him. "We're going to meet Robert Fischer - the man who seems to be making a small fortune out of trading with the Nazis at present."

"But if they are as dangerous as you say, why are they-?"

"Because Mr Fischer is a breed of men who believe that pacifying the enemy is a way to deter them - and it fattens his bank account." Eames began to lead the way out of the tavern, pausing to hand the waitress several folded notes. Duitfully, Arthur followed the other man. As they entered the street, he blinked in shock.

A shop that directly faced the entry to the tavern had had its window smashed. As he watched, several men, clad in the black uniforms he had seen earlier, were in the process of dragging people out of it. One of them, a man dressed in a dapper waistcoat and shirt, was protesting. Suddenly, Arthur saw the baton in the SS officer's hand raised, and slam into the other man's head.

Eames looked, and turned. "Come on," he said, curtly. "This is the kind of thing that's happening too frequently. The world needs to know, and I need you to help report it. Let's go."

Arthur, sick to his stomach, followed the other man.

**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated, thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

As Arthur and Eames hurried down the street, Arthur turned his head back. The shouts and disorder surrounding the shop were beginning to dissipate. He looked at Eames, questioningly. "How often does this happen?"

"With alarming frequency," The British man replied. "Jewish children are no longer allowed to attend the same schools as non-Jewish Germans. And then there's the small matter of what those children might be taught-"

"How do you mean?" Arthur interrupted.

"Purity," the other man said, stopping to light a cigarette. "Racial purity."

"Oh," Arthur said, a clammy feeling developing on his skin.

Eames looked at him. "Don't be offended...but I wouldn't reveal your parentage to anyone if I were you." He swallowed, a pained expression filling his eyes. "As I have said, being American will only offer you a certain degree of protection. Especially considering what you're here for."

Arthur nodded, and adjusted his hat. The brim deftly kept the rays from his skin, and the two men continued to walk. He heard the chatter of women in German, and proceeded to walk past them.

"Let's get the tram," Eames said, decisively. "Fischer's business is just outside the Alexanderplatz. Its quicker than walking."

"Do you like it here?" Arthur asked, suddenly. Eames nodded. "Yes."

"Despite what's happening?"

Eames stopped, and looked at him. "Why are you here? To help people understand. To help them understand what's happening in this country, and why. And, if you want to, I can show you some places after this meeting you might find amenable."

"All right," Arthur mumbled. As they got on the tram, he looked. Several families were on the tram, the children wearing a uniform that reminded him of the Scouts. Eames leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. Arthur watched him, wishing he could be as relaxed.

After a few stops, Eames opened his eyes, getting up. "We're here." He began to get off, followed by Arthur. As they approached a tall, grey stone building, he swallowed, adjusting his suit. Not pausing, Eames strode in, and Arthur, entering the cool, marble interior, shivered.

* * *

Ariadne sighed as she stretched out on the bed. The late afternoon sunshine was pouring through the window, and she was more than happy to nap before going downstairs to the musty, stale dining room for dinner. She turned over, closing her eyes.

She was running through the scenes of the afternoon. Her young professor, another American, praising her in her Drawing class. She had warmed slightly as the words had fallen from Dom Cobb's lips. She had also noticed his wedding ring, glinting in the light, and felt slightly chagrined, then annoyed with herself at nursing a crush. She shook her head. They were both foreigners here, and she realised, she was increasingly conspicuous due to her being a young woman.

She shuddered slightly. The speed with which women were being pushed out of public life was frightening. She had heard that they were planning to cut the number of German women attending University to a mere 10 percent. She blinked, biting her lip. Her mother had sent a telegram pleading for her to return home, but she was reluctant to. If she did, there would be an insistence that she not complete her degree, but merely settled down and married Eric, her High School sweetheart - although she would argue there was little now that was sweet about him. He had shown no compassion after the Wall Street Crash, contemptuously claiming that the poor could do something to help themselves if they wanted to. She'd felt disgusted by this, but then also reckoned that living in a wealthy bubble had given him a warped world view.

She sighed. The man who had helped her that afternoon - she was a little annoyed. He'd come over, and acted as though he were a hero - but he had no idea. Brownshirts were dangerous. They had approached her for flirtation - nothing more. Much as she hated their attention, she was determined not to flee Berlin. She'd fought hard for the right to spend a year here, at the University.

She turned over. Yes, the man had been handsome. But perhaps a bit interfering. She sighed, and hugged her pillow. Hopefully, she thought, closing her eyes, she wouldn't see him again.

* * *

"This way please."

Eames and Arthur followed a petite, carefully dressed woman to a set of doors. She nodded, and then knocked. Opened the door. A brief conversation in German, and then she nodded. Eames entered, Arthur behind him.

Robert Fischer was standing at a window. Tall, and very thin, he had a ghostly paleness that was exacerbated by his sharp black suit. He smiled reluctantly as though it were uncomfortable. "Gentlemen. Please, have a seat."

Eames sat down, Arthur followed. He looked at Fischer. "Mr Fischer. I'm reporting for the New York Times." He spoke with polite formality. "I'm interested to here how you benefit from trading in Germany at this time."

Fischer leaned back in his seat. "Are you suggesting I'm profitteering, Mr-?"

"Cavendish," Arthur said, quickly. "Arthur Cavendish."

"Because if so-" Fischer's eyes flashed like blue ice - "you misjudge me. Germany has had a bad time. I'm merely here to help her get back on her feet."

**All reviews appreciated, thank you! I like to know who is following this!**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur swallowed, and leaned forward. "Here to help Germany on her feet?"

"Of course," Fischer said, smoothly. He reached for a glass on his desk. "You have to invest if you want to restore balance, gentlemen." He took a sip of water. "Herr Hitler has a plan - that by building autobahns the workforce will receive jobs, and also invigoration. Germany doesn't want to depend upon handouts and loans. She needs her independence."

Eames leaned forward and spoke. "Even if that means consorting with racists?"

Fischer leaned back in his chair. "The National Socialists have a plan," he said, calmly. "They want to re-build their country. You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs."

Arthur leaned forward. "And would you say destroying people's businesses, threatening people's safety - you'd claim that was only breaking a few eggs?"

Fischer arched an eyebrow. "I would say that its the typical response of an American who doesn't understand."

Arthur shook his head. "Some would say its the response of a decent man."

Fischer leaned forward. "Mr Cavendish. Did you or did you not come here to ask me questions about my businesses role? Because if you're merely going to insult me, I'd prefer it if you left."

"I'm not trying to insult you," Arthur said, quickly. "I'm just-"

"I have a meeting in half an hour," Robert said coolly. "I'm meeting with a man who needs my company to help finance some new building work. Albert Speer. " He stood up. "Thank you, gentleman."

Eames stood up, cordially offering Robert his hand. The other man shook it. Arthur's hand he merely took. For Arthur, he felt as though he were holding a limp fish. Fischer's eyes were glacial.

"Thank you, Mr Fischer," Eames commented. He and Arthur turned ,and left.

* * *

Ariadne sighed and looked at the clock. Nearly 8pm. Time for dinner. She began to get up, determined to splash her face and change her clothes. She sighed. Then another miserable evening inside her room, reading. It was getting too difficult to go out at night. Brownshirts everywhere. She poured water from the jug into the bowl, and began to wash.

* * *

"Well, that was cordial," Eames commented. Arthur scowled. "He was trying to trap us."

"Into what?"

"Into agreeing with him that what he's doing makes business sense." Arthur rubbed his forehead, feeling tired. He blinked, and checked his watch. "I should get back."

"Well...why don't we meet, later?" Eames suggested. "Meet at the place we met earlier? There are a couple of people I'd really like you to meet."

"All right." Arthur nodded. Bidding good bye to the British man, he headed for the small hotel he was staying in. After ten minutes, he turned off, down the road, and pressed the bell.

After Frau Lehmann had let him in, he headed upstairs. Taking off his jacket, he splashed water on his face, then undid the vest. Swallowing, he reached for his jacket, and headed downstairs.

"You're on your own tonight," Frau Lehmann informed him as he entered the room. "Except for Fraulein Hayes."

"Fraulein Hayes?" Arthur frowned slightly, then blinked. Sitting at the table, wearing a clean, peach coloured dress was her. The girl from the street.

"Now, sit down," Frau Lehmann twittered, bringing out dishes.

Silently, Arthur raised his eyes, and looked at the young woman across the table.

She blushed. "We meet again."

"So it seems."

**All readers appreciated, and I'd love some reviews, thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur swallowed and looked down at his plate. As he peeked up, he realised that she was doing exactly the same thing. Trying her hardest not to meet his eyes.

"How long have you been in Berlin?" he asked, his tone non-committal. She blinked, and smiled. "About two months."

His eyebrows went up. "Really?" he swallowed. "And what are you here for?"

She smiled at him, again. "I'm at the University. Studying architecture."

"Oh." Arthur looked down at his plate. He was unsure of what next to say. He worked with women - women who wore red lipstick, the latest fashions, and seemed to be determined to use their feminine wiles to gain as much attention as possible. Meeting Ariadne, who seemed completely unaffected, who wore no make up, and seemed to be dressed in a simple style...he hadn't been sure women like this even existed any more. He opened his mouth, when suddenly their landlady appeared, carrying two plates. Without preamble, she put them down in front of them.

Arthur blinked. The plate was literally heaving with food. Meat, potatoes, vegetables. He picked up his fork, and poked at it.

Ariadne looked at him. "Not what you're used to?"

Arthur swallowed. "I'm a journalist." He looked at the plate, wondering where he was going to start. "I usually eat out. Or live on coffee." He blushed slightly. His lifestyle was unhealthy, he admitted to himself - long nights, early starts, too much caffeine, cigarettes - and food grabbed when he could get it. He rubbed his forehead. Miles, the editor, was frequently admonishing him for his way of living. But he wanted him to get the stories, he thought, ruefully. He dug his fork in.

Ariadne was eating with unabashed enjoyment. He reached for his glass of water. Most of the women he knew lived on coffee and spritzers. He frowned. Taking a girl out to dinner seemed to be an energy sapping pastime of watching her eat as little as possible. He frowned.

"Are you allright?"

He looked up. "Yes." He smiled tiredly. "Its just...Berlin isn't quite what I expected."

Ariadne nodded. "The Nationals Socialists...they're very determined."

Arthur frowned. "Determined is one way of putting it."

He shuddered. The memory of watching the elderly man's shop destroyed that afternoon was burned into his memory. He bit his lip. His parents had never really divulged the details of his parentage - all he knew is that his grandparents on both sides had emigrated to America after the turn of the Century. But where from?

"We're American," his mother had told him, firmly. "That's what's important, Arthur."

"I don't doubt it," he muttered. He fingered his glass, lost in thought. "But Americans have to come from somewhere," he muttered.

"What is it?" Ariadne asked, looking up.

"Its just..." Arthur put his fork down. "I saw a shop today...the owner being dragged out, the shop smashed. All because the owner was Jewish..." his voice faltered. "And those soldiers you saw today...be careful."

She blinked. "Arthur...I -" she paused. "I'm mostly at the university. We're pretty safe there."

"Just be careful," he said, darkly. He got up, leaving his meal almost uneaten. "Good evening."

Ariadne turned and watched as he left. She narrowed her eyes as he fetched his hat, and headed for the door.

Swallowing, she waited. After a few minutes, she got up.

* * *

"He will be here," Eames said, assuringly.

"I hope so." Dom Cobb stretched back, and picked up his wine glass. His wife, Mallorie, toyed with her own.

"So how is the life of academia?" Eames asked. Cobb raised an eyebrow.

"Well, today I got to meet with Mr Albert Speer," he said, casually. "Oh, and a gentleman called Robert Fischer. Very pushy, although he looks as though he'd go down if you pushed him."

Eames smiled. "Yes...he looks a little...fragile."

Cobb shrugged. "Well, I-" he blinked. "Is that him?"

Eames looked up. "Arthur!"

Frowning, the American moved over to meet them.

He hadn't noticed the young woman in the shadows.

"Meet Cobb, and Mal," Eames said, enthusiastically. "And-" he paused, frowning. "Who is that-"

Arthur turned, and noticed her. She'd managed to stay behind him on the short walk to the bar. "That is-"

"One of my students!" Cobb exclaimed. "Ariadne!"

Startled, and ashamed, she turned and ran.

**Please review - it is appreciated!** **Thank you for reading this fic!**

**A/N - Yes, I know I wrote Cobb as Arthur's editor in the first chapter. But it makes more sense to have him in Berlin. I'm mentioning it because I don't believe anyone should treat their readers as stupid and assume they would never notice. **


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur ground his teeth in annoyance. "Excuse me." To the surprise of the couple and Eames, he got up and moved towards Ariadne, an began to chase her. Startled, she turned back to look at him, accidentally colliding with another man, who expressed surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ariadne gasped out, slightly breathlessly. "I-" Suddenly, Arthur's footsteps caught up with her, and his arm extended, his hand taking her elbow. Her eyes widened with surprise as he manovered her outside, through the entrance, past a group of black clad young men whose bohemian air gave the impression they were University students. He frowned at her, his stance only softening when he realised that she looked downcast.

"What are you doing?" he spoke in English, in case anyone was trying to overhear. Ariadne swallowed, and looked at him.

"I'm sorry. I just..." she blinked, and then her voice came through more strongly. "I just wanted to see where you were going."

Arthur folded his arms. His years as a journalist had taught him to be wary of anyone who felt the need to follow him. "Why?" he demanded.

She bit her lip. "I was lonely," she admitted. "I wanted to talk to you, and-"

"So you followed me?!" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Well, it is a little flattering."

"Thank you," she said, shakily.

"Well, you'd better join us." He grumbled slightly, as he headed into the building again. "I can't let you go home on your own." He looked up - the sky was beginning to darken, turning a dark turquoise, sliding into a star-studded indigo. She swallowed. "Thank you, Mr-"

"Arthur," he said, nodding. "Arthur's fine."

Turning, the two of them re-entered the bar. Arthur walked back to the table, and pulled out a chair. "Please."

Ariadne sat down, and a silence descended. Cobb coughed, slightly.

"Actually, Ariadne, Arthur - I'm glad that you did come along." He reached for his beer glass, and gestured to a waiter. "Drink?"

Arthur nodded, and an order was placed. As the waiter sidled off, Cobb swallowed.

"Arthur. Eames tipped me off that you were coming to Berlin."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. "What?!" He turned to the other man, his jaw dropping slightly. "How did you-"

"Cocktail party, British embassy." Eames reached for his drink, and took a sip. "You get to know people."

Cobb paused as the waiter appeared. A pint of beer appeared before Arthur, and a small glass of red wine for Ariadne. Arthur reached for the glass. "Thank you."

"Still, I'm here on a visiting professorship." Cobb took another sip. "Based at the University of Berlin - Mal teaches French there." The gracious woman smiled and nodded. "When I spoke to Eames, he told me there was something I could do to assist the British Government."

Arthur swallowed. "What?"

"Albert Speer is working closely with the Architecture department," Cobb said, his voice low. "And-" He took another swallow of beer. - "There is something that I think we should do."

"Really?" Arthur asked, intrigued despite his wariness.

"Yes," Cobb replied, nodding. "Listen. There is something I really want to discuss with all of you - yes, Ariadne, including you. Shall we finish and go?"

Eames nodded enthusiastically, downing the last of his pint. Arthur took a few swallows and left the glass. Ariadne finished her wine, and they began to stand up.

As they left, they were careful to stick together in a group. As they walked past the twisting streets towards the Alexanderplatz, Arthur blinked, and shuddered.

An elderly couple were being harrassed by two Brownshirts. As the couple tried to hurry on, more jeers and abuse were thrown at them. One word Arthur heard distinctly - "_Jude!"_

"What's the matter?" Eames said, sharply. Arthur jerked his thumb. "That, back there." He frowned. The couple, both looking nervous, and frightened, were still quickening their pace. They reminded Arthur of the rabbits he'd seen on his uncle's Conneticut farm, looking for safety from the harsh fire of the shotgun.

"Oh," Eames said, looking uncomfortable. "Well..." As the words left Eames' lips, the couple turned down a side street. The soldiers, obviously bored with their sport, stood and loitered in a doorway, casting only a cursory glance at the group as they walked past. Arthur frowned, angrily.

"Doesn't anyone ever ddo anything to help?"

Eames glared at him. "Meaning?"

"Meaning-" he looked round, fury making his voice rise. "This country - people being harrassed because of their ethnicity, people turning a blind eye, its-"

Suddenly, Eames hand was on his shoulder. "Be quiet!" he hissed. "Do you want to get yourself arrested?! Remember - being an American does not afford you absolute protection here!"

Slightly shaken, Arthur blinked. Eames took a step back. Ariadne looked slightly distressed; Cobb and Mal concerned. The British man began to breathe more evenly.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "Sorry. But, Arthur, please - don't make yourself conspicuous." He lowered his voice. "These people don't care who you are!"

Nodding, Arthur agreed. They continued to walk, heading for the U-Bahn. As they entered the station, Arthur felt a shudder of unease.

"Excuse me!"

He turned. A man, clad in a black and silver uniform, was approaching the group. To his shock, Arthur realised he was heading straight for him.

"Ja?" Arthur replied, choosing to speak German.

"Die identifikation!"

Arthur, slightly shocked, automatically reached for his pocket, pulling out his passport. He handed it over to the man, whose face did not alter. He opened the passport, and began to leaf through it, suspiciously. He looked at Arthur. "American?"

"Ja," Arthur nearly croaked, his face beginning to colour. The sheer intensity of the man's suspicion was making him nervous. He swallowed, his suit collar suddenly feeling uncomfortably close around his neck.

The passport was handed back, with a sniff. The SS guard turned away, as though Arthur were inconsequential. Stunned, Arthur looked at his retreating back. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his elbow.

"Are you all right?" He turned at the soft sounding voice. Ariadne was standing right next to him, her pretty face anxious. He swallowed, his throat dry. "Yes, I think so."

"Come on," Cobb said, softly. "Let's get out of here. Our place is only ten minutes direct."

Swallowing, Arthur began to follow the others, conscious of Ariadne's hand at his elbow, and equally conscious of the penetrating gaze of the SS Officer. He hadn't seen the last of these encounters. He was sure of it.

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur swallowed uneasily as they headed to the Cobbs' home. He had tried to draw into himself on the U-Bahn, conscious of the fact that soldiers were everywhere. As they had headed out of the station at Alexanderplatz, he'd noticed two black clad SS men. He'd also noted that they had smiled politely and tipped their hats at the two women in their group. But he'd also noticed the suspicion in their features as they'd scrutinised him. His cheeks had burned slightly - the sting of being asked for his ID, unlike anyone else in the group, was very fresh in his mind. The ice blue eyes of the two men had seemed to burn with a strange intensity.

He was beginning to wish he'd never come to Berlin. The Cobbs seemed pleasant - but who were they, really? And Eames?

And Ariadne?

Arthur shuddered inside his jacket. He was beginning to feel under suspicion, and nervous, and both sensations annoyed him. As they crossed the road an headed to the door of an elegant townhouse, he was beginning to consider excuses to leave.

"Arthur?"

He turned his head. Ariadne was looking at him. "Are you all right?"

Arthur nodded, feeling as though he'd exposed his thoughts. "Yes, I'm fine." He smiled at her, but it felt forced. After an interminable few moments, they entered the building. As they walked in, Arthur blinked. The house felt spacious, and was expensively furnished and decorated. They sat in the lounge. Mal smiled at them.

"Coffee?"

"Please," Eames said, agreeably, and Arthur nodded. "Oh, no thank you," Ariadne said quickly.

"Have a seat," Mal said, smiling graciously. As the rest of the group settled, she turned and gracefully walked to the kitchen. Arthur noticed how Cobb's eyes trailed after her shapely figure, and blushed slightly.

"So," Arthur said, finally finding his voice, "Why are you here?"

Cobb shifted in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"An American and Frenchwoman choosing to work in Berlin. Why did you stay after the Nazis got into power?" Arthur swallowed, aware that anger was starting to edge his words. "You could have got out. Could have left."

"Because we felt that things were going on that need to be exposed." Cobb got up, reaching in his jacket pocket for cigarettes. "That things are becoming dangerous, but this is turning into a closed state." He lit up, inhaled, and exhaled the smoke. "And we need to find out what they're planning."

"And how are you going to do that?" Arthur asked, cautiously.

"Infiltration," Eames spoke suddenly. "And when we became aware that you were coming over here...we have the perfect cover."

"Meaning?"

"You're a journalist," Cobb said, carefully. "Good with research, and also at convincing people that they need to talk to you. Miles told me that you would be perfect."

"Miles?" Arthur's jaw dropped. "You mean my editor?!"

"The very same," Eames nodded.

"Miles is...?"

"My father," Mal said, walking back into the lounge with a tray. "His name is DeLaune - my maiden name."

Arthur blinked, stunned. "I've been set up."

"No!" Cobb said, quickly, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "No, you haven't. Miles told us you were the best, and we wanted the best."

Arthur exhaled more slowly. "So what is it?"

"Well, Mal and I-" Cobb blinked. "We've become very friendly with a young university scientist, Yusuf. Hes been helping up with sedatives."

"Sedatives?!" Arthur was beginning to feel as though he were losing the grasp on his sanity.

"We're trying an experiment in dream extraction." Cobb swallowed. Mal sat on the edge of the chair, and wound her arm around his neck.

"Dream extraction?" Arthur shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is...crazy."

"Arthur!" Cobb looked at him. "Listen. The Nazis have plans. And they're dangerous. People like Robert Fischer think they can control them - they can't. We need to find out what they plan to do."

Arthur shuddered. "And you think we can do this?"

"We can if we infiltrate," Cobb said, carefully. "And as you're a journalist, the best person to do this...is you."

Arthur felt a cold hand wrap around his heart and squeeze.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"What?" Arthur blinked, and looked at Cobb. "You intend to-?" He felt as though everything was crumbling beneath his feet. "You intend to try and find out...what the Nazis are planning?"

"Yes," Cobb said, nodding. "And for that, we need you. You're a journalist. You can talk to them, find out what they intend through some simple questions. If they really want to boast, they will give themselves away."

Arthur shuddered. "And how am I- how do you even think-"

"Joseph Goebbels," Eames interrupted.

"What?" Arthur turned, and glared slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Joseph Goebbels is the second highest man in the Reich," Eames explained. "And he is Hitler's Minister for Propaganda. He is the man who is overseeing the radios, cinemas, art galleries - everything that is cultural, they are trying to destroy."

"But why?" Arthur felt shocked - the full scale of what the National Socialists were implementing had never been fully realised to him.

"To support their own mythos," Eames explained. "There is a desperate need for them to remain in power. Hitler managed to woo the electorate with the promises of bread and land - just what a country in the grip of a depression needed to hear. The question is how does he hold onto that power if he can't fulfill the promises."

"And how does he?" Arthur demanded.

"He makes the people believe that they can't live without the philosophy he preaches - National Socialism." Eames rubbed his forehead. "And we need to find out just how deeply that is going to be embedded. Because when someone has an idea like this, and is putting it into the public domain...the first people to go are those that don't believe."

Arthur shivered. Eames was delivering this clearly, and calmly. There was none of the slightly sarcastic joking he'd witnessed previously. The gravity of the situation was being laid out, and fleetingly, Arthur wished he could get on the the first ferry back to New York.

"Take the Jews," Eames said, lowering his voice. "They are perceived as a threat. Hitler feels he has to get rid of them."

"You don't know that!" Arthur said, loudly, rising to his feet. "You-"

"Come on, Arthur!" Eames said, sharply. "Look at what's happening! People being thrown out and harrassed in the street! Demands for ID! Children being forced into different classes! And where will it end!"

"I don't know!" Arthur shouted back. "Are you sure this isn't just paranoia?!"

"Paranoia?!" Eames stared at him, and Arthur realised the Cobbs had turned to look at him, too. Only Ariadne was sitting quietly, as though afraid to express an opinion. "What do you mean? Oh yes, accuse me of paranoia, but when you're back sitting in your East Coast ivory tower-"

"How DARE you?!" Arthur exploded. "You don't know anything-"

"Oh, don't I?" Eames snapped. "I know about you - that you're completely the wrong man for this job! I thought Miles was sending me someone reliable, a solid, stick in the mud type - but instead we got a cowardly, pampered pretty boy who can't bring himself to care!"

Arthur felt himself flush scarlet. Turning, he grabbed his jacket. "I don't have to listen to this," he snapped, coldly. "This is insane. You want me to go and talk to these people...when you're just basing everything on speculation?"

He began to walk past Eames, who held out an arm. "If you're planning on just leaving-"

"I am-"

"Be careful, you don't know who is out there-"

Arthur ignored him and began to hurry. Mal got up. "Arthur, please don't just leave, you need to-"

The front door slamming ended her sentence.

Eames looked at the assembled company. He turned, and bit his lip. "Right. Well."

Cobb shook hiss head. "I'm going after him."

"Wait!" Ariadne said, quickly. "I'll-"

"No, you won't." Cobb began to hurry.

* * *

Arthur walked along the street, still burning with anger. He was paying little heed to others on the street, and walked quickly. He was determined to get back to the boarding house, collect his luggage, and begin to leave the country.

Suddenly, he felt a touch on his elbow. Turning, his eyes narrowed. A young officer, clad in the black and silver uniform, was looking at him, smiling.

"Identification," he spat, the German term sounding harsh. Arthur nodded, and reached in his pocket, pulling out the papers.

To his astonishment, the officer knocked them away, shaking his head. Before Arthur could speak, he found himself being grabbed from behind.

"What- why-"

"_Jude!" _The officer snapped. To his horror, Arthur realised that the protection he'd been assured he had didn't exist.

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.**

Arthur swallowed as he felt a hand clamp on his arm. The officer was young, with chiselled features and a cold manner. Before Arthur could protest he was bundled into the back of a car.

"Do not speak," he was informed. The front doors of the car slammed, and it began to move forward.

Shocked, and feeling alarmed, Arthur slumped forward in the seat. He closed his eyes briefly wondering if he would see daylight. The harshness of the word spat at him was still ringing in his ears. Shuddering, he listened to the rhythms of the engine, realising that the two men sitting in the front were not communicating.

Silence. The silence, he felt, was worse.

* * *

Cobb turned, shaking his head. Furious, he began to hurry back to the town house. As he entered, he realised that Eames was already in the hallway. "What happened?" The British man asked, the worried expression on his face betraying his mild tone.

"He's been taken," Cobb informed him, flatly. "Taken, and possibly for questioning, possibly for-"

Eames paled. "My God."

"Do you think you can-"

"Get him out?" Eames swallowed. "Possibly. But it'll take some work. They will have taken him to the station."

"What about-" Cobb swallowed.

Eames shook his head. "Don't tell them," he cautioned. "Just tell Mal that you and I are going to try and work on Arthur. All right if Ariadne stays in your spare room tonight?"

"Of course." The American was heading back up the stairs as Eames spoke. Swallowing, the British man dug in his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it in anger. As he inhaled, he shook his head.

"Arthur," he muttered. "What have you done?"

* * *

Arthur swallowed as the car stopped in front of an unremarkable looking building - a squat brown cinder block. He noticed the two men got out, and slammed the doors. He twisted his hands in his lap, realising that he had to stay where he was. The two officers were conversing at the side. He turned his head, wondering what would happen.

Suddenly, the door was wrenched open. "Out!" one of the officers barked. Before he could speak, another officer came, and gripped his arm. Arthur found himself practically wrenched from the back seat and pulled along.

"Hey!" he protested. The officer, stopped, glaring at him. Suddenly, he began to shout in German, gesturing at Arthur. As the fingers gripped his arm, he began to feel a new emotion.

Terror.

The look in the officer's eyes was one of pure hatred. As he took in Arthur's features, it was evident he was assessing him, analysing him. He glared at the American, and finally he spoke.

_"Jude." _

Arthur shivered. The term was brutal, dehumanising. To these people, he suddenly realised, he was a member of a race they despised. The fact he was American - a foreigner - meant nothing. They saw something else. Something they did not want.

The officer began to walk him up the steps. As they passed another black clad man, Arthur recoiled. He half expected the officer to spit at him. As they walked past, he noticed the coldness of the building.

Eventually, they came to a small cell. The door was opened, and he was pushed in. As the metal door clanged shut, he walked over to the small wall mattress, and sat down. Shivering, he pulled his suit jacket around him.

* * *

"So where will they have taken him?" Cobb asked, quietly. The two men were hurrying down the street, hoping to hail a cab. Eames swallowed before answering.

"Their station." Eames looked at him. "Cobb. These men are powerful, and feared. They've seen something in Arthur they don't like. They will be trying to find out what he's doing here."

Cobb shook his head. "But you told me he changed his name-"

"Yes." Eames frowned. "But sadly, he can't change his appearance."

"What?" Cobb spoke rather loudly, and Eames frowned. "Ssshh!" He pulled the other man into a small alley, and lowered his voice.

"Listen to me," he said hoarsely. "Arthur is Jewish. Miles told you that, and you told me that. They are training people to identify ethnicities. Propaganda, piles of it. Telling the average German citizen to be wary, what to watch out for. Arthur has been spotted - and right now, he's being interrogated."

"Interrogated?" Cobb felt slightly faint. "But if he tells them about our mission-"

"We'll all be arrested, and if we're lucky, deported." Eames swallowed. "But we can't take that chance. We need to find him, and if necessary, get ourselves out of here."

Silently, his heart sinking, Cobb followed the British man.

* * *

A scrape in the lock made Arthur look up. A young man entered the cell. "You." He pointed at Arthur. "Here."

Silently, Arthur followed him. He could feel another officer gripping his arm. After a few moments, he was showed into a mall room, and forced down into a seat.

An SS Officer was sitting opposite him. He was looking at Arthur intently. As Arthur blinked, he began to speak. "Whhy are you here?"

"I..." Arthur swallowed. "I'm a journalist."

"A journalist."

"Yes." Arthur nodded.

"What are you here for?"

"To...write about the National Socialists." The SS Officer glared at him. "Why?"

"Because America needs to know about how clever the policies here are," Arthur said quickly, his heart thumping so loudly he was surprised it didn't drown his words out.

"You think we're clever?"

"Yes," Arthur said, nodding.

"We are." The officer smiled, almost smugly. "We will not let people stop us. And we will not let...inferior races take over." He shook his head.

Arthur nodded again. "Very commendable."

The SS Officer stood up. "Are you a Jew?"

"I..." Arthur swallowed. "I'm American."

The man looked at him. "A Jew?"

"American." Arthur looked at he other man almost defiantly. The SS Officer shrugged, and turned to another. After a brief conversation in German, Arthur felt his arm being taken, and being walked outside.

As he was effectively pushed back onto the street, Arthur found he was trembling with shock and outrage. Suddenly, he realised - he could be questioned, arrested, and possibly tortured at any time - purely because of his parentage and family background. Rubbing his face, he fought an urge to vomit. Any thought of heading back to America disappeared. He had to stay here to expose these people. He had to.

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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"Arthur!" He looked up; Cobb and Eames were running towards him. "Arthur!"

Shaking, he nodded. As they approached, he felt his legs wobble, and clutched onto the wall for support. Eames reached him first.

"Breathe," he directed. As Arthur sucked in a lungful of air, he nodded. "Welcome to the world of Nazi surveillance."

"They know," Arthur gasped out. "They know about my-"

"Ssssh!" Eames said, quickly. "Not here! Let's get you out of here!"

Grabbing his arm, the two of them began to walk. As they approached another street, Eames hailed a cab. "In" he said, bundling Arthur into the back seat. He sat next to him, and leaning over, gave the driver instructions in rapid German. As the cab began to pull away, Arthur leaned back, the shock of what he'd experienced starting to roll over him.

After about ten minutes, the cab stopped in a small side street. Eames opened the door, and practically pulled Arthur out. "Come on."

Arthur waited as Eames unlocked the front door. "What are you-?"

"Come on," Eames said, impatiently, pushing him in. As Arthur entered, he realised Eames was gesturing to the flight of stairs in front of them. "Second door to the left."

As Arthur walked up them, his mind was racing. Eames watched. "Knock on it," he said, quietly. Arthur raised his hand, and knocked. The door sung open. Blinking, Arthur found himself face to face with a man clad in a long black bathrobe. He nodded. "Come in."

"Don't mind if we do," Eames said, almost jovially. As they entered, he turned to Arthur. "Arthur, this is Chris Longsworth, Department of War. He's been placed over here for three months, to monitor the situation."

"Indeed," Chris said, nodding. He extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you." He began to walk through. "Please, both of you, have a seat."

Arthur sat down in a leather covered chair. "You own this place?"

"Renting," Chris said, walking to a small table with a decanter of amber liquid placed on it. "Scotch?"

"Please," Arthur said, nodding. Chris deftly poured a measure, and handed the glass tumbler to him. "Here." He poured another and handed it to Eames, then proceeded to walk round and seat himself. "Cheers!"

Arthur grimaced. "What are we celeebrating?"

"In a situation like this you need to focus on the positives." Chris took a sip of scotch. "So, you're the journalist."

"I am."

"Right. Eames tells me you're our best chance of finding out what's really going on with the Nazis. The inner circle." Chris leaned forward. "We owe it to the German people to tell the world."

Arthur shifted, uneasily. "But...do we?"

"Yes," Chris said, nodding. "Do you have any idea how many people are trying to leave this country at the moment, Arthur? They are frightened, and they're desperate. They can see that something is going to happen. In fact, things already are."

"I know," Arthur said, coolly. "Tonight I was arrested and questioned by the SS. They worked out I was Jewish. Despite changing my name on the passport."

"Its your face," Chris said, nodding. "They look at your features. See if you match the perfect Aryan idea." He swallowed. "But, we need to get you inside to the inner circle. And by flattering the Nazis, you can do that."

"Question is," Eames said, idly, "are you prepared to do this?"

Arthur swallowed. "People are scared."

"Yes," Chris said, nodding.

"And they're being treated as though they're second rate, because of what they are..." he rubbed his face. "I'll do it,"he said, with finality. "I'll do it."

Eames and Chris exchanged a glance.

"Well," Eames said softly. "Now there's a decision."

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	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"So," Chris said, smiling more happily. "You'll do it? You mean it?" He eyed Arthur, as though concerned the other man could refuse again.

"Look," Arthur said, his hands shaking. "I don't like what you're telling me. And I don't like being set up." He glared at Eames, who had the decency to blush. "But I can't condone what's going on. And I -" He swallowed. "I'm not a coward."

"No-one said you were," Eames said, quietly. "Really."

"Listen," Chris said, intently. "There is an opening tomorrow, at an art gallery. Joseph Goebbels will be there. Perfect opportunity to try and wind your way in, to try and find out what exactly their plan is."

"Allright," Arthur said, nodding. "Which gallery?"

"Hamburger Banhof," Chris said, taking another sip of scotch. "I'll meet you outside. Remember, you're a journalist, I'm a journalist. Just wanting information. Just wanting to know what it is they're thinking."

"All right." Arthur got up, and nodded. "Time I left."

"Of course," Chris said. "But Arthur..."

"Yes?"

"Get a cab home, all right?"

* * *

Ariadne swallowed as she stretched out in the large bed. Mal had very kindly shown her to the guest room, insisting she take an extra towel, and assuring her she was welcome. But she was uneasy. Arthur had just...left.

She pulled down under the covers, trying to make herself comfortable. She wished she had never come to Berlin. Danger seemed to be lurking on every corner, and the fact that you could be targeted purely because of your parentage...

Ariadne closed her eyes, hoping to slide into sleep.

* * *

Arthur arrived back at the lodging house, and quietly entered. The hallway was in darkness, and he walked upstairs with a light, graceful tread, fishing in his pocket for the key. As he approached the door, his eyes narrowed.

The door was partially ajar. Swallowing, his heart beat quickening, he pushed it open, and entered, determined to catch whoever was inside.

The room was enveloped in shadows, and the curtains were billowing - the window was wide open, showing that someone had been in, and had chosen to leave quickly.

Arthur, swallowing, reached for the light switch.

He blinked. The room seemed to be undisturbed, with only the billowing curtains a clue someone had been inside. As he moved futher into the room, he noticed that his suitcase, kept locked, seemed to be slightly open. Kneeling down, he flicked the latched, and opened it.

As he looked, his eyes widened.

_Meet me at Alexanderplatz, 11pm._

_The Cat._

"The cat?" he muttered, stupidly. "The cat?" frowning, he checked his watch, and shook his head. It was after midnight. He wasn't going anywhere, except to bed. Walking to the window, he closed it firmly, and latched it. Then, trying to keep his thoughts in order, began to prepare for bed.

"The cat," he muttered, disgustedly. Scowling, he sluiced his face, removed his clothes, and changed. As he settled into bed, he tried to keep calm. Germany suddenly seemed dangerous - and crazy.

* * *

Arthur rose early, and began to blink as he realised the day that lay before him. Going to an art gallery, and meeting with one of the most powerful men in the Reich - he wasn't sure he was completely ready. After an interminable wait, and monosyllabic conversation at breakfast, he began to leave for the gallery.

The soldiers and SS seemed to be mercifully thin on the ground, and as he walked to the U-Bahn, noted that people who passed him did so without paying him attention. He pulled his hat slightly lower, trying not to reveal too much of his face. His face. He thought bitterly of how proud his parents were of their heritage. Descendents of Eastern European bloodlines, who had emigrated to America to make their way.

"We should never forget our roots," his mother had always stressed. But, he thought, what if you were forced to - purely to survive?

Despite the warmth of the early morning sun, he shivered slightly. As he hurried down the steps, and waited for his train, he breathed. Suddenly, a voice at his elbow shocked him.

"Well, you're only nine hours late. Not too bad."

Arthur turned, stunned, to see a woman standing beside him. Her thick dark hair was swept upwards into a knot, and her dress was exquisite, clearly top line ladies' fashion. She nodded at him. "I am however, offended when a gentleman doesn't show up."

Arthur swallowed. "You're the-"

"Yes," she interrupted. "And that's all you need to say. But when I found out what you were being primed to do, I had to warn you."

Arthur blinked. "Who are you?" he asked, guardedly. She looked round, and leaned forward.

"I'm on the inside, Mr Ogilvie. I work with the people you're here to infiltrate...planted by the people who are planting you. But you can't trust them. None of you have any idea what is driving these people, what is bonding them together. Its hatred. Blind, obsessive, hatred. There is no logic to what they do."

Arthur blinked, listening to her chilling words. "You're saying-"

"Get out of here," she hissed. "You're not safe. Trust me, they will kill you."

Arthur looked at her in shock - suddenly, a train rushed in, drowning out his thoughts. He turned his head away - and when he turned back, the mysterious young woman had vanished, without even a trace of scent to alert anyone to where she had been.

Shaking his head, he got on the train. As it moved towards the destination, he found himself focusing more upon the task ahead.

As he got off, and began to walk to the gallery, he looked round. This particular area of Berlin was beautiful - plenty of floral designs, and stately buildings. It was hard to believe that such a peaceful scene was harbouring lurking danger.

As he entered the gallery, he looked round. The cool beauty of the spacious interior was breathtaking. As he moved inside, he saw a large room, filled with people. Swallowing, he approached.

The room was filled with those in uniform and those without. As Arthur walked forward, he realised that the majority were clustered around someone. He blinked, trying to ascertain who it was.

"Arthur?"

He turned. Ariadne, to his relief, was standing behind him, smiling shyly. "Thought you might need a ...companion," she said, almost apologetically.

After his bizarre encounter earlier, he nodded. "Thank you."

He offered her his arm, and the two of them began to walk further. Suddenly, they were stopped, by a frowning brownshirt.

Arthur offered his pass. "Press," he said, politely.

The other man nodded and they continued to walk. Suddenly, Arthur realised who the attention was focused on.

A man, a slightly scrawny, undersized man, with thick dark hair and an intense expression, was standing in the centre of the group. As Arthur walked forward, he realised that the man was gesturing to the artworks hanging on the walls, with a fervered intensity.

Suddenly, Arthur realised he was face to face with one of the most powerful men in the new Germany. Joseph Goebbels, the Minister for Propaganda...and the architect of many of the myths that were being spewed forth.

Arthur felt Ariadne's clutch on his arm tighten. As the older man looked at him, Arthur nodded.

"Herr Goebbels," Arthur said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I am Arthur Cavendish, New York Times. May I speak with you?"

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	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.  
**

Arthur swallowed as he looked directly at the other man. The eyes, he noticed, were cold. There was intelligence, but no warmth. He let the other man's hand drop as soon as they'd shaken them.

"Mr Cavendish," Goebbels said, formally. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I want to know what it is that's going on," Arthur said, deciding to play dumb. Giving the Nazi an impression that he really didn't know anything about them was guaranteed to cause the other man to tell him everything. "What it is that the National Socialists are planning."

Goebbels nodded. Arthur had to hand it to him - he had impeccable manners. "Well, Mr Cavendish," he said, smiling. "What do you see here, in this gallery, on the walls?"

Arthur turned. The art work that was displayed was not what he would consider to be art. There were no Grand masters. The paintings were dull - mostly of peasants, he noticed, sowing seeds, or of athletic young men in physical activity. He frowned, slightly. The brushwork was utilitarian, not expressive. He shuddered slightly, remembering the dazzling artwork he had the privilege of seeing in New York.

He turned, realising that Goebbels was looking at him. "Well?" he asked, politely. "What do you think?"

"Its very-" Arthur paused, unsure of what to say. Boring? Simple? He fought desperately to find the right word. "Its very...simplistic."

"That is the point."

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Mr Cavendish. You are in Berlin at the right time. Germany is witnessing and undergoing a re-birth." Goebbels swept his arm around the room, an expansive gesture that Arthur noticed was viewed admiringly by others present. "We are rebuilding our country, the third Reich. This art reflects what we celebrate."

Arthur nodded. He was determined to keep the man talking. Again, he played dumb - a crass journalist insensitive to the difficulties that the country had undergone. "What are you celebrating?"

Goebbels narrowed his eyes. Arthur maintained eye contact, suddenly fearing that his disguise had been seen through. But after a couple of moments, the other man smiled again, his face relaxing. "We celebrate the people, Mr Cavendish. The hard workers, the builders, the strong. The people who are making Germany great again. The farmers, peasants, athletes. See how they plough and till the land by hand!" He pointed to a landscape, and Arthur nodded in agreement. "This is the future, Mr Cavendish. A Germany founded on hard work, and purity."

"Purity?" Arthur blinked. The word was out of his mouth before he thought. Goebbels smiled, and nodded.

"Yes, Mr Cavendish, purity. Note how...degenerate works of art are no longer here. Art that celebrated the shameful. For example, Otto Dix's work is no longer displayed. We do not need reminding of our failures. This is part of the process, the process by which we restore our Reich."

"And what do you mean by degenerate?" Arthur said, almost hotly. He had forgotten about Ariadne, who was standing next to him, until he suddenly felt a slight squeeze on his arm. "What does that term mean?"

"Degenerate...we mean everything that has dragged this nation down." Goebbels fixed Arthur with an unflinching stare. "For example, the Jews."

Arthur felt as if he'd had ice water thrown in his face. "You can't mean..."

"Mr Cavendish." A sliver of ice had penetrated Goebbels voice, and Arthur realised the conversation was now ended. "I have other people to see. But thank you for your interest. If you wish to pursue the interview further, then do make an appointment at the Ministry. Good day to you."

Stunned, feeling like a schoolboy who had been ejected from the Headmaster's office, Arthur turned as Goebbels went over to a beautiful woman. By the way he kissed her, he guessed it was his wife.

"Arthur?"

He blinked. He'd almost forgotten Ariadne. "Yes?" he said, feeling slightly rattled.

"Let's go." She spoke gently, but authoratively, and Arthur didn't feel he could argue with her. Quietly they began to leave, heading towards the exit. She began to walk him to the U-Bahn, and he didn't feel he could speak again until they were on the platform.

"Hey!"

He turned. To his annoyance, the woman from earlier was approaching. She was slightly red, indicating she'd been running, and she was waving. "Hey!"

Ariadne frowned. "Do you know her?"

"No," he replied, only half truthfully. As the UBahn approached, he ushered her on to it, taking a certain satisfaction from how the doors slammed as she approached him. She looked furious, and he turned his back.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know," Arthur replied, slightly bullishly. He was irritated by the appearance of the mysterious woman, who didn't seem prepared to let things go. "She's just..." he sank onto the seat. "Ariadne, I don't know."

"OK," the young woman said, nodding. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she spoke again. "Here. Let's get off here."

Arthur followed her as they walked off the train and out into the open air, taking a few moments to soak up the sun. After another few minutes, they found themselves at a small cafe. Ariadne sat down, and Arthur did also. She picked up a menu.

He looked at her. "Ariadne..." he shook his head. "What they were saying in that gallery-"

She lowered the menu. "Not here," she said, carefully. "Anyone could be listening."

He nodded. Making a mental decision not to pursue this line of conversation, he began to relax. Ariadne ordered for them, and eventually, with the sun warming his face, he began to feel better.

"Danke," he said, appreciatively to the waitress who appeared, smiling, with two glasses of house white. As he picked up his glass, he took a sip.

"So," he began, leaning towards Ariadne, "tell me about you."

Smiling, she picked up her glass. "Where shall I begin?"

* * *

Arthur nodded as he left Ariadne on the doorstep. Leaning over, he kissed her on the cheek. She blushed slightly.

"Listen, I need to find Cobb and Eames," he said, quietly, casting a quick glance around. "They want me to tell them about today." She nodded. "Best I go alone, all right?"

"I can take care of myself, Arthur," she said, slightly darkly. He blinked, and she blushed. "Sorry. Its just...you don't have to be protective."

He bit his lip. "Just...wait here, ok?" She nodded, but it was reluctantly. Feeling protective, and also concerned he'd caused offence, he began to turn away.

As he walked away, Ariadne went back in, shutting the door firmly. Sighing, she went upstairs to her room. To her shock, another woman was standing outside the door.

"How did you-" Ariadne began.

"It doesn't matter," the woman said. She looked at Ariadne. "Just tell him to keep away from them."

"From who?"

"From them. The American who he thinks he's assisting."

"But Cobb-"

"Not Cobb." The woman shook her head. "Just tell him. Please."

Stunned, Ariadne watched as the woman opened the door to her own room, and hurried to the window. Within seconds, it was as though she'd never even been there.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur hurried through the streets, determined to get to his rendezvous before he was either followed or traced. He walked quickly to the U Bahn, checking over his shoulder, his hat pulled down low. He was determined not to be followed. He spotted a few bownshirts lounging, but ignored them.

He reached his destination - the bar he had met the others at previously. As he entered, he noted that Eames and Cobb were there, with Chris. He approached them.

"Good evening."

"Arthur!" Cobb was on his feet, offering his hand. "Good to see you, have a seat!"

Arthur sat down, wondering at the display of effusion. Suddenly he noticed. Two SS officers were sitting at one corner. Though they appeared to be drinking, Arthur could have sworn their eyes kept swivelling back to their table. He swallowed, determined not to betray himself or the others.

"We should go," Arthur said. Eames shook his head.

"No, they'll suspect us." He gestured to the waitress, who came over almost timidly. "Glass of red?"

"Why not?" Arthur muttered. Chris nodded. "Thank you."

Arthur watched as she walked away. He sighed and leaned back.

"Are you allright?"

"I seem to be getting a visitor," Arthur responded, tetchily. Chris raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes."

Chris lowered his voice. "Who?" he asked, urgently.

Arthur bit his lip. "Its a woman."

"Yes?"

"She doesn't seem to have a name." Arthur raised his hand, and with his fingers, began to trace the outline of a cat's head on the table. Chris nodded. "I see."

"Do you-?"

Chris leaned back, and nodded slowly, raising his wine glass. Shocked, Arthur leaned back, beginning to wonder what he was involved in. The other American leaned forward. "Finish the wine, and we'll go outside and talk. You've met her...well, it was only a matter of time."

"Who is she?" Arthur pressed. He had to know who this woman was.

Chris nodded. "Come on, outside."

He picked up his wineglass, and made for the exit. Arthur followed, wondering what information was going to be planted. He wandered, and Chris offered him a cigarette.

"Smoke?"

Arthur took it, allowed it to be lit, and inhaled. He faced Chris. "So, who is she?"

Chris took a swallow of wine. "She's known as Suzanna Zollinger. That's the name she has working in their headquarters. She has a different name on her American passport."

"First name?"

Chris shook his head. "You don't need to know, it could blow her cover if you do." He shook his head. "All you need to know is, she's on our side. Your side. Just currently covering our backs."

Arthur nodded. "I see."

"Listen, why don't you go back inside," Chris urged. "I'll leave, just to be safe."

Arthur eyed him, suspiciously. "You sure?"

"Yes." Chris finished his cigarette, flicking the butt into the street. As Arthur went inside, Chris turned and walked. After ten minutes, he came to a small townhouse, and knocked, discreetly. The door opened, and he entered.

"You really don't help."

The voice belonged to a young woman, who was sitting in the lounge. Chris smiled and entered, settling himself into a chair. "Mind if I have a whiskey."

"Yes, I do," she snapped. She looked at him, her large dark eyes troubled. "What are you doing with him? He's a lamb to the slaughter."

Chris poured himself a thumbful of whiskey, swirling it in the glass before he spoke. "I know he is. But you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette."

"But he seems so..." she swallowed. "Such a man of honour. And you'll give him to them?"

"He is a journalist, and our best chance of finding out what the Nazis are planning." Chris took another sip. "Eames and Cobb are very co-operative."

"But do they know the full extent?"

"No."

"Chris, I-"

"Selina. Just stay in your role. Secretary to the Nazis at their HQ. Feed him the information he wants."

"And if they want a sacrifice?"

He looked at her, his light blue eyes suddenly glacial. "Well. If it comes to that...he'll be that too."

**Thank you for reading, please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.  
**

Arthur turned over in bed, and swallowed. His throat felt dry, and he began to sit up.

He'd been primed the previous night for his first assignment. To meet again with Robert Fischer, the determinedly obtuse businessman who was suspected of dealing with the Nazis.

"We think he has a link to Herman Goering," Cobb had told him, quietly. "The question is, why?"

Arthur had swallowed. He seemed to be moving ever closer to the inner circle - the tight knit group of advisors and cronies that the Fuhrer surrounded himself with. Moving closer to them seemed to be a way of getting closer to Hitler himself.

"He goes to this cafe every morning," Eames had informed Arthur, sliding a dossier over to him. "There's another contact there you might need to befriend."

"Who?" Arthur asked, suspiciously. He was beginning to wonder if he'd walked into a rogues' gallery.

"His name is Peter Browing. He's Fischer's right hand man, so be careful. Any criticism of Fischer is liable to be taken personally."

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"He's his godfather." Eames looked at Arthur. "He's also effectively Fischer's surrogate father. Be very careful. He's the real power behind the empire. Fischer is just a puppet. Ever since Fischer's father died, Browning's been very careful to make Fischer think that he's in charge. Trust me, he isn't."

Arthur got out of bed, and sluiced his face. He swallowed, thinking of Ariadne. The young woman had, he suspected, been avoiding him for the last couple of days. He heard a clatter on the paving stones outside, and looked through the window.

Ariadne was pulling her bicycle out on to the pavement, and preparing to mount it. He bit his lip as he watched her peddle away.

He sighed. He had to try and fix things with her. Something had clearly happened, and he needed to know.

* * *

"Black coffee will be fine, danke."

The waiter nodded obsequiously and began to walk away, leaving Robert Fischer to start unfolding the newspaper in his hand. As he did so, he frowned. A man was walking up to him, and his eyes narrowed.

"Mr Fischer," Arthur said, smiling politely. "We meet again."

Fischer raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He lowered the newspaper, his face set in harsh lines. Arthur studied him closely - the other man's skin was slightly sallow, and he could also note dark circles. "Mind if I sit down?"

Fischer frowned again, his annoyance becoming clear. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." Arthur seated himself, and looked directly at the other man. "Not in this case." He waited until the waiter had been, and left the coffee. Then, he began.

"Why are you in Berlin?"

"I told you. Helping out." Robert picked up his coffee cup. "I'm a great believer in helping people who help themselves, Mr Cavendish. Germany is trying to pick herself up at present."

"And also committed to driving out those who it thinks doesn't agree with them." Arthur held the other man's gaze. "Surely you must have seen what's happening? People driven out of their homes, their businesses-"

"Well, maybe its time for them to move on," snapped Fischer. "If the people speak, they should be listened to."

"Does that mean driving people out?"

"Why are you so threatened by this, Mr Cavendish?" Fischer's smile was almost malicious. "Is it because you're scared they might discover your secret, too?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"They might discover your secret...Mr Ogilvie."

Arthur swallowed, the colour draining from his face. His cover. His cover seemed to be disintegrating. "What secret?"

"The secret that you are one of those...undesirables." Fischer looked at him, draining his coffee cup. "That you are a Jew." He shook his head. "Not something you want people here knowing, is it?"

It was stated so calmly, so bluntly, that it felt like a slap in the face. Arthur looked at him. "Meaning?"

"Leave me alone, Mr Ogilvie." It was a command. "I'm not going to give you information, or help you. And if you persist in trying to force me to, I will simply tell an informant."

Arthur felt himself shudder. Fischer nodded, and smiled. "I'm glad we understand each other." He leaned back. "I don't think you want to spend the best years of your life in a-" he stopped, hurriedly. "I'm running late. Thank you."

Arthur looked at him. "Where could I end up?"

"I need to leave." Fischer was hurried, and also - worried. Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Thank you, Mr Ogilvie." He grabbed the papers he'd had on the table, and threw some money down to cover the bill. Arthur reached out, grabbing his arm.

"Mr Fischer, would you tell me-"

"I can't tell you anything." Fischer was already walking away. "Leave me alone!"

Stunned, Arthur watched his retreating back.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"Mr Fischer!" Furious, Arthur got up, and headed after the tall, thin man. Fischer gave a backward glance, his facial features freezing into an expression of outright anger. As Arthur closed in on him, he stopped. "Leave me alone."

Arthur shook his head. "You know I can't do that. You know things about these people-" he blinked, suddenly realising that despite speaking in English, they might be understood. Taking a different tack, he decided to gamble.

"You know what they're planning," he said, in fluent French.

Fischer blinked, slowly. By the sudden tension in his face, Arthur knew that he understood every word - probably the benefit of an expensive, private school education abroad. He nodded, and continued.

"And you're prepared to help betray people to bring it to fruition."

Fischer's expression was paling. Arthur took another step forward.

"You're not working on behalf of your company, Mr Fischer. You're an Australian who is working on behalf of someone else. What are you? Double agent?"

Fischer blinked. "I..." He began to walk, hurriedly. "Not here. Come on."

Arthur watched as the other man began to hail a cab. Before he could protest, he watched Fischer open the door, and enter, virtually pulling him inside. As the cab moved off, Arthur turned to the other man, who quietly pressed a finger to his lips, leaning forward to bark out an address in German.

Arthur leaned back, his mind whirling. Fischer...who was he, exactly? And what was he doing? He waited until the cab arrived at an unremarkable looking building. Fischer paid the driver, and got out. Arthur followed.

"See this?" Fischer had switched back to speaking in French - the fluency with which it rolled off his tongue revealed him to be an able linguist. "Come on."

Arthur followed him as he opened the door, and walked in. As they did so, he noticed the place was eerily silent. No other people - not even, he realised, furniture. Fischer kept leading him through the corridor, until they arrived at a room. Fischer swallowed, and pushed the door open.

Inside was a room with two chairs, and a table. Fischer walked over, and began to sit down. "Scotch?" he asked, speaking again in English.

Arthur nodded. "Please."

"Take a seat."

As Arthur sat, he noticed that Fischer looked uneasy.

"I am a businessman, Mr Ogilvie." He spoke clearly, and in a slightly clipped manner. "I am simply here to help provide building materials to allow Germany to re-build. That is all. With the new autobahns, this country has good odds of beating the depression. And re-paying the French, the Brits, and you Americans." He smiled coldly. "That is all I'm here for."

"So why the secrecy?" Arthur demanded.

"Because I am also privy to the thoughts of some very powerful people." Fischer sank back into his chair, and took a swallow of scotch. "Heard of Albert Speer? Chief architect?"

Arthur blinked. "Yes."

"Good. I'm going to meet him later today. In fact, I've been invited to a meeting at their headquarters. Do you want to come along?"

Arthur swallowed. Part of him wanted to say yes - the other part suspected he'd be walking straight into a trap. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"How do you know you can trust them?" Fischer looked at him, coldly. "Eames. Miss Kyle. Dom Cobb. How do you know you can trust them?" He shook his head. "Trust no-one, stop being so naive. I can assure you all of them would reveal your real parentage if it stopped them from getting killed."

Arthur got to his feet. "Yes, I'm Jewish," he said, hoarsely. "But I'm-"

"No, Arthur, you're part of a sub species to them." Fischer's eyes bored into him. "Do you have any idea how much hatred there is for the Jews here? The people are constantly fed Goebbels' party line - it was a Jewish politician who signed the Treaty of Versailles, allowing the country to be stabbed in the back. The crippling reparations, the depression - the fact that Germany was fed a lie by their own Kaiser doesn't matter. It pales in comparison to what they are being told the Jews have done to them."

Arthur blinked.

"Oh, and there is their plan for their Master Race. You don't fit the bill, Arthur, sorry." Fischer swallowed, his expression grim.

"But I'm not German." Arthur's voice sounded weak to his own ears.

"Listen to me Arthur. It doesn't matter that you are not German. You are Jewish. Therefore - you are the enemy."

Arthur felt his face flame. "So, its just those like me?"

"No, it is not." Fischer blinked, his face pale. "Working with them...I'm finding out more things everyday. Especially the fact they plan to rid this country of anyone they perceive to be undesirable."

Arthur swallowed. "I have to find this out. People need to know."

"Just leave." Fischer glared at him. "I'll get you a ticket. You can go first class back to the States, and spin some story. The longer you stay here, the more in danger you are."

"No," Arthur said, firmly. "I need to see this for myself."

"All right." Fischer nodded. "Come on."

* * *

As they left the building, Fischer hailed another cab. The cloud were gathering, and the street was being splattered with rain drops. As the cab moved through the streets, Arthur felt a mix of anxiety and intensity.

What he discovered, he reasoned, could make all the difference.

When they arrived at the Headquarters, he noticed that there was a hushed, almost reverential atmosphere. He followed Robert as they moved towards a large pair of double doors. As Robert explained in careful German who they were, uniformed men nodded, and they walked through the doors.

Arthur scanned the room. He recognised Joseph Goebbels immediately, and also noticed a very large man, dressed impeccably in uniform. Robert, however, was making a beeline for a well dressed man.

Arthur turned. And his eyes widened.

A somewhat small figure, with an icy blue gaze, was standing at the head of the table, bending over documents. He was gesturing with his hand, speaking quickly. Arthur swallowed, but before he could turn away, the man's eyes came up.

Standing frozen into place, Arthur made eye contact with the Fuhrer.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer**:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"Herr Fuhrer," Arthur said, almost stammering. As the other man lifted his head to meet his eyes, he was taken aback by the other man's charisma. Despite his nondescript features, and small stature, Adolf Hitler radiated a powerful menace.

The Fuhrer nodded. "Herr...?"

"Cavendish," Arthur said, quickly. "Herr Cavendish. I am a writer. Here to report about how your nation is becoming so powerful again."

Hitler seemed satisfied by this answer. "I see." He began to turn away, clearly disinterested in speaking any further with a foreign journalist. As he moved over to a stylishly dressed woman, Arthur felt himself breathe a sigh of relief.

He felt a touch on his elbow, and nearly jumped. Robert Fischer was shaking his head slightly. "Come on."

As they moved forward, Arthur realised they were approaching Joseph Goebbels. He felt himself stiffen slightly. The smaller man was conversing with a couple of others. Goebbels looked up, and nodded. To his shock, Arthur realised he recognised him.

"Herr Goebbels," Fischer said, pleasantly.

"Herr Fischer! Thank you for coming!" The Nazi's enthusiasm was a surprise - Arthur realised that Fischer had spent longer than he'd inferred building relationships with these people. Goebbels looked at Arthur. "We have met, ja?" he asked, politely.

Arthur nodded. "We have."

Goebbels frowned; then his face cleared. "Oh, yes! The American!" Arthur blinked - he was sure Goebbels had delivered the last word with a sting of contempt. He swallowed. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Well, it is good to see you again! This little soiree is to discuss plans for the development of Berlin." Goebbels smiled, and Arthur noticed it did not meet his eyes. "You are here to gather information for your readers at home, yes?"

"Yes," Arthur said, wondering what the Nazi was trying to press him to say. Goebbels nodded, and turned his head. Arthur realised that he was looking at a beautiful woman, decorated in expensive jewellry and a fashionable outfit. She was smiling at the Fuhrer, who seemed to be holding her in animated conversation.

"My wife," Goebbels explained. Arthur nodded - there was a subtle interplay that Goebbels seemed both aware of, and almost disinterested in. "Let me introduce you to someone."

Arthur turned. Another man, with a cold, slightly haughty expression, was standing near. Goebbels called out. "Wilhelm!"

The man approached . Arthur felt a needle of fear as the other man's eyes swept over him. "This is Herr Wilhelm Frick," Goebbels explained.

Herr Frick looked at Arthur. "Good evening," he said, almost coldly.

"Herr Frick is the Minister for the Interior." Goebbels said, politely.

"Danke, Joseph." Frick looked at Arthur. "You are...?"

"A journalist," Arthur said, politely.

"From where?"

"America."

"America," Frick said, dismissively. "A country that will crumble. Do you want to know why?"

Arthur felt frozen. There was an intensity in the man's face he had not witnessed before - a barely concealed aggression. "You should read the theories of Hans Gunther. He believes in Nordic ideology. The Nordic race is the most noble in all of Europe - if in not the world. You Americans should read his theories. You should protect your people."

"From who?" Arthur stammered. He felt pinned beneath Frick's gaze.

"From the lesser races." Frick's lip curled. "They dilute our blood - they dilute your noblest people's blood too. Especially the Jews. They are a scourge."

Arthur felt his insides turn to ice. He began to wish he'd never come to this country, where civilisation seemed to be the flimsy surface of a boiling pot of aggression and hatred. Frick was still talking. A pale, thin man with glasses was watching them intently. He shuddered, and looked away.

"...they stabbed our country in the back, they strip us of our assets. But we have science to help us - we will create the Aryan race, which is genetically superior. They will lead the Reich."

Arthur swallowed. "But what of those who are not...?"

"They have no place here." Frick's eyes bored into his. "But we are already making plans. We will remove them."

"To where?" Arthur croaked.

"To places where they can be...rehabilitated."

Suddenly Arthur felt his elbow being grabbed. Before he could protest, Fischer was pulling him out of the room. What they did not see was the young uniformed man watching their every move.

He approached the man with glasses. "Reichsfuhrer, I-"

The man nodded. "Follow them."

**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated, thank you!**

**A/N - Wilhelm Frick did indeed exist - he was Reich Minister for the Interior from 1933 and a huge rival for Joseph Goebbels. An anti-semite, he made many speeches in the late 1920s at the Reichstag which gained favour amongst the Nazi "inner circle."**

**Racial theories of purity existed as well. Gunther was a biologist who pushed the idea of "biological nationalism." **

**The man with glasses - Heinrich Himmler. Organiser of the SS, Himmler oversaw the Concentration Camps. Reichsfuhrer was a title for Himmler given to him by Hitler. **


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.**

Arthur left the building, and began to walk back to Alexanderplatz. He had a small glass of wine, and he rubbed his forehead. His vision was clear, but he knew he had little time to get back before the patrols were out. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he began to walk quickly and purposefully towards the U-Bahn.

He didn't look back.

* * *

Selina had stood in the shadows, watching and waiting. She spotted Arthur leaving, and bit her lip. Sure enough, a uniformed officer was following him. She shook her head. This journalist was proving to be more trouble than he was worth.

Quietly, clad in black, she began to follow them both. Zigzagging in and out of the streets, she kept to the shadows, determined not to be seen. She watched as Arthur walked to the steps of the U-Bahn, hurrying down them quickly and purposefully. The officer waited, then followed.

Selina caught her breath. She waited, and then walked on.

When she got to the platform, neither Arthur nor the Officer were anywhere to be seen, and the lack of stillness in the air indicated a train had passed through. Swallowing, she decided to wait for the next one.

She had to find Arthur. If only to reassure herself that he was not dead.

* * *

Arthur settled himself into a seat, pulling his suit jacket down. As he did so, he realised that another young man had entered the train - in uniform. He took a deep breath, and looked at his hands, trying not to draw attention to himself.

After a short while, he looked over. The officer was simply looking at his hands, too. Mirroring.

Arthur swallowed, and waited for the train to trundle to his stop. Getting up, he glanced over his shoulder, noting that the other man was sitting perfectly quietly. Composed. Arthur waited for the doors to open, and began to leave.

He heard footsteps behind him, and continued to walk. After ten minutes, he reached the lodging house, and rang the doorbell. The door opened, and he entered.

"Danke," he said politely to the landlady, who nodded. As she shuffled off, he headed upstairs.

As he reached Ariadne's room, he knocked on the door. "Yes?"

"Arthur," he called out, softly. She opened the door, and peeked through it. "Come in."

* * *

Selina hung back, in the shadows. She pulled her black wrap around herself, and shivered slightly. The young officer was also in the square - but did not seem to be approaching the building. She decided to wait. Play the game.

Sooner or later, one of them would give up.

* * *

"Arthur." Ariadne opened the door. She was wearing a nightdress and robe, and looked mildly annoyed. "What is it?"

"I need to talk to you," he said, simply.

She swallowed, and nodded. "Please, come in."

As he entered, she sat down on the bed, and gestured for him to take a seat. "What is it?"

"Ariadne, we have to leave," Arthur said, quietly. "We have to get out of this country."

"Why?" She asked, startled.

"They're planning something." Arthur was beginning to pace up and down, a sign of growing worry. "They have a plan and they're prepared to use it. They want to get rid of people. We have to go back, and alert our Government, the Western Allies, what's going on."

"Arthur-"

"Ariadne, listen to me. If I stay here - I become a target." He bit his lip. I was taken to a party tonight, by Fischer. I met some of the most important men in the Third Reich. They're very blase when they talk about death. Because they don't care. They think its just a convenient way to rid their country of people they don't like."

"What about Cobb? What about Eames?"

"What about them?" Arthur said, tersely. "It doesn't matter. We have to go. I'm taking you with me."

Neither had noticed that the window was wide open.

* * *

Selina shivered. The cold was beginning to get to her. The Officer, she noticed, was moving towards the building, and even knocking . She pricked her ears up - she could hear voices. Raised voices.

Shocked, and suddenly reading the situation, she hurried to the back of the building. Throwing off the black wrap, she began to climb the wall, stealthily, and quietly. As her finger jarred against the brickwork, she cursed - she needed to get to the window, and warn its occupants, before the Nazi made its way to them.

* * *

"How is leaving going to solve anything?" Ariadne demanded. "All we have to go on is rumour, Arthur!"

"Rumours, but listen to these men! They believe in biological nationalism, they believe in-"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Arthur paused, then his eyes widened. An officer, in uniform, came in, shouting. Arthur realised he was grabbing his arm.

"You are under arrest!" he roared. "Arrest! Spy!"

"What-" Arthur felt his arm being gripped, and him being pulled out. "No, no! I'm an American journalist, not a spy, you've got this-"

Suddenly, he felt a stinging blow to his face. Horrified, Ariadne watched as he was pulled out of the room. As he was manhandled out, Ariadne turned as Selina stepped in.

"Wait!" Selina shouted, but the officer was already pulling Arthur down the stairs. The two women were frozen into place as they disappeared.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"No, please...you've got this wrong," Arthur tried to force the words out, to make an impression on those who were man handling him down the stairs, but he was beginning to realise it was futile. "Please, this is a mistake - I'm just a journalist, an American journalist, I'm here to find out-"

He was silenced by another blow to his face. As he gasped, the pain began to take hold, and throb - for a dazed moment, he wondered if his cheekbone had been broken.

Suddenly, he was grabbed by the shoulders, and shoved against the wall. His eyes widened. He had never seen such hatred in anyone's face before - except the face of the uniformed guard that was shoved up close against him.

He began to bark at him in German. As the flow of harsh, guttaral words flowed, Arthur winced. Suddenly, he realised he had only one option - to do as he was asked, or die.

As the guard released his grip, and took a small step back, Arthur nodded. This seemed to placate the man, who took his arm, and began to lead him forward. Shaking, Arthur let himself be pulled.

With a sudden flash, he realised he had left Ariadne behind. For a shocking moment, he wondered if he would ever see her again.

* * *

Selina and Ariadne stood, horrified. Ariadne tried to hurry after him, but Selina grabbed her shoulder. "No!" she hissed.

Ariadne pulled back, glaring furiously at the other woman. "But that's Arthur-"

"You can't help him right now," Selina said, shaking her head. "He's been arrested, they will be questioning him." She shuddered, having a grim idea of how the questioning would happen. "We need to find Cobb, and Eames."

"Cobb will be at home," Ariadne said, quietly, her fear displaced by anxiety. "Eames might be there."

"Then you need to take me there," Selina said, shaking her head. "We have to find Arthur."

"Before?"

Selina swallowed. "Let's hope we find him."

* * *

Arthur felt heavy steel snapping round his wrists, and swallowed. For the first time in his life, he felt terrified. He knew he was at the mercy of these people. He could be tortured, he could be killed - and he also knew that nothing would happen. No information would go back to America. His family would never know the truth.

To his horror, he felt tears threatening to prickle his eyes. He blinked, swallowed, and straightened himself. He was not a spy, or a double agent. He was an American journalist, here on an assignment.

He would continued telling these people the truth.

The van he had been bundled into was bumping along the road, throwing him against the walls. He felt his shoulder slam into the side, and winced. He leaned his head against the cool metal, trying to calm himself.

Selina and Ariadne had seen what had happened. But what if they had been captured? The thought of Ariadne being treated like this caused the bile to rise in his throat, and for one moment he thought he was going to vomit all over the floor.

The van drove on. Arthur kept his eyes closed, wanting nothing more than to block everything out.

* * *

"Keep moving." Selina's tone was not unkind, but Ariadne knew it was an order. Under the older woman's guidance, she had packed her bag with a few essentials and personal items - Selina knew that Ariadne could not return to the boarding house.

Ariadne shuddered. As they moved quickly through the streets, Selina with the grace of a dancer, she shivered. Arthur...he could be anywhere.

"Stop thinking about him."

Ariadne blinked. She looked at Selina. "What?"

"You heard me." Selina shook her head. "Anything could be happening to him right now. The best thing you can do is not think about it."

Ariadne bit her lip. "But-"

Selina turned, and taking her arm, pulled her into the shadows. "Listen to me," she whispered, hoarsely. "He has been taken. He -" she shook her head. "I need to get you to Cobb. Please, just do as I ask."

Ariadne looked at Selina. "You're scared?"

"Yes," Selina said, quietly, nodding. "I am."

* * *

The van stopped, and Arthur blinked. Suddenly, the doors were thrown open. Two uniformed men stood in front of him, barking orders. He frowned - they were speaking too quickly for him to decipher what they were saying. As one man grabbed his arm and began to pull him, Arthur began to move, quickly. He knew the best way to survive this ordeal was to do what they wanted.

To his surprise, they had arrived at another building. As he was marched through the entrance, he noted the darkness, and also, the silence. Intimidated, he swallowed, and composed himself. They reached a flight of steps, and he was walked down it.

Then down another.

After another two flights, they arrived at their destination. Arthur, taking a look around, realised that they were in the basement. As he was led to a door, Arthur waited. After the rattling of keys, a heavy door opened, and Arthur was shoved inside.

"Wait-" he began, only for the door to slam in his face.

"Hello."

Arthur turned, shocked. He was not alone - the dim light in the room revealed two small, narrow beds, and one, he realised, had an occupant. Another man, lying on it, gazing at the ceiling. Arthur walked over to the empty bed, and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he began to calm himself. He had been convinced they would torture him, question him- merely pushing him in a room had come as a shock.

"I-" he blinked, and sat back. "I-"

"Don't know why you're here?"

"No." Arthur took a shuddering breath. "I'm a journalist."

"Well, that's what they all tell them. Or they tell them they're a businessman. That's what I said."

"Are you?"

"Well...sort of." The other man sighed. "But still. Who are you? You have to try and keep normal plesantries in here."

"Arthur. Arthur Ogilvie."

"Nice to meet you, Arthur. I'm Bruce Wayne."

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	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.**

Selina made sure Ariadne was shielded by her as she rang the bell. She shivered - the night air was cold, and she was sure she could hear footsteps.

To her relief, the door opened, and Mal peeked out. She had clearly been about to go to bed - her hair was in wrappers and she was wearing a quilted night robe.

"What do you-?" Mal's eyes widened as she saw Ariadne. Selina nodded. Mal held the door open, allowing the two women in, before shutting it again, firmly. Ariadne was pale, Selina's jaw was clenched.

"Mal, what is it-" Cobb came through, and blinked when he saw Selina and Ariadne. "Both of you, please come in."

As they entered, Cobb made sure the curtains were pulled. He nodded, and both women seated themselves. "Talk to me," he said, leaning foward.

Ariadne swallowed. Mal spoke. "Would either of you like some tea?"

"Yes, please", Selina said quickly, surprising Ariadne. Mal hurried to the kitchen. Cobb spoke again.

"Please tell me what happened. As clearly as you can."

Ariadne swallowed, and began.

* * *

"How long have you been here?"

Bruce turned his face towards Arthur. His features were lean, and slightly weathered, covered by beard growth. He shrugged. "I can't remember."

"Yes, you do." Arthur felt himself feel both irritated and surprised. "I'm sure you do."

"Well, here time moves slowly." Bruce sighed. "I have no idea, Arthur."

"But...why are you here?"

Bruce began to sit up. Arthur noted that his clothes were slightly ragged, and his frame rangy. He looked at Arthur. "I was arrested."

"Why?"

Bruce began to smile, wryly. "Yes, you are a journalist. Coming at me with these questions." He sighed again, and stretched. "I am a businessman. I came over here with my girlfriend."

"Doing what?"

"Well, I was interested in helping the NSDAP with providing building materials," Bruce explained. "Whatever your personal feelings may be, I believe you have to invest to help people back on their feet." He stretched out. "My girlfriend came with me - she worked for the US Government, so we agreed she would try and infiltrate."

Arthur blinked. "Worked for the Government?"

"Yes." He nodded. "She does. Only now, she works for the German Government, uncovering secrets."

"Is her name..." Arthur hesitated. "Selina Kyle?"

Bruce blinked, his eyes widening. "That's..." he paused, and swallowed. "How do you know her?" he asked, softly. "How do you know Selina?"

"Actually, I first got to know her as The Cat," Arthur said, simply. "Quite a breaking and entering artist."

Bruce nodded. "Oh, she is." He smiled. "She's a runner. Someone who has to know how to pass on secrets quickly, and carefully. Calling herself the Cat was my idea," he said, sheepishly. "It was silly, but I guess it made it seem more glamorous, and less dangerous." He exhaled softly. "But...how is she?"

Arthur swallowed. "She seemed...fine." He chose his words carefully. "She was...working."

Bruce smiled - a real one. "She would never mention me," he said, nodding. "But, that's ok. She has to protect herself."

"How long have you been together?"

"Two years." He smiled. "I'm hoping, if I see her again, we will get married."

"See her again?"

"Arthur." Bruce looked at him. "This place is a holding cell for prisoners. They thought I was selling Nazi secrets back to the US. I lied to protect Selina."

"A holding cell?" Arthur's face paled. "Before what?"

"The camps."

Arthur felt his blood turn to ice. _Oh God. No. _

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	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"The camps?" Arthur repeated, almost stupidly. "The...camps?"

Bruce nodded. "How else do you think Hitler is going to achieve his Reich? By purging the country of everyone they view as undesirable."

"But we're -we're-"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, mentally intercepting Arthur's next comment. "Don't you pay attention? Being foreign is no protection here."

Arthur's blood was running cold. "But...what will happen to us?"

Bruce was sitting on the edge of his bunk, looking at Arthur with sympathy, as though unable to comprehend his lack of understanding.

"They'll put us to work. And eventually, we'll die."

Shocked, Arthur stared at the other man. "But...you have a life, back in the States! So do I!"

"Arthur." Bruce shook his head, wearily. "Forget it. Its over. They will never let us go."

* * *

"Drink this." It was a command, and Ariadne numbly accepted the cup of tea forced into her hand. Her grip was shaking, and she swallowed, trying not to spill it.

"What happened?" Cobb asked, evenly. Eames was also there, his expression worried. "From the beginning."

"Arthur came to my room," Ariadne began, her voice halting. "And he was...arrested."

"Arrested?!" Cobb's voice was sharp, slicing through the atmosphere like a knife. "How?"

"He was followed," Selina spoke, her voice tense. "I was watching. I followed the soldiers through the square. He was a target as soon as he left the Headquarters."

"Well, what's going to happen now?" Ariadne was aware her voice sounded mildly hysterical - annoyed, she tried to calm down, sound like a reasonable adult. "Can we help him?"

"No."

Eames' voice was calm, but leaden. Swallowing, the young Architect turned to face him. "What?"

"You can't help him now," Selina added, seating herself without being invited. "Right now, he's in a holding cell. And tomorrow,, or maybe the next day, he'll be transported."

"Where?" Ariadne could not believe how calmly they were speaking.

"Most likely, to a place called Dachau." Eames' face was grim. "Its a concentration camp. Specially set up to deal with people that the Reich deem undesirable - political agitators, the disabled, those of differing religious views - and Jews."

Ariadne's face paled in shock. Mal's expression mirrored hers. "How can you be sure?"

Cobb got up, and walked to a mohagany bureau at the back of the room. Carefully, as though about to handle a prized religious relic, he reached for a drawer. Pulling it open, he brought out a small metal box, which he unlocked with a tiny key. From this, he pulled out several sheets of paper. After he had made his selection, he cleared his throat, and began to read.

_"On Wednesday the first concentration camp is to be opened in Dachau with an accommodation for 5000 people. 'All Communists and—where necessary—Reichsbanner and Social Democratic functionaries who endanger state security are to be concentrated here, as in the long run it is not possible to keep individual functionaries in the state prisons without overburdening these prisons, and on the other hand these people cannot be released because attempts have shown that they persist in their efforts to agitate and organize as soon as they are released"_

Cobb finished. The room was silent. He looked round.

"Before anyone asks, yes, this is genuine. It was a press statement made on 21 March, 1933. It was overseen in its construction by Heinrich Himmler."

"Himmler!" Eames got to his feet. "Where was Arthur tonight?"

"At a cocktail party." Selina spoke, quietly. "At the Nazi's Headquarters. I believe he wasn't alone."

"Really?" Eames turned to her.

"No. I think he went with someone. A businessman." Selina looked at him. "Robert Fischer."

"Oh, my God." Cobb sank down onto his seat. "Fischer. He sold him out, he must have done!"

"Not necessarily." Selina shook her head. "I don't believe Fischer really understands what or who he's dealing with." She swallowed. "But we have to move quickly."

"I don't know if we can." Eames spoke with an air of resigned finality. "Arthur has gone. If we try and interfere..." He looked at the group. "They will kill us all."

"So you're just going to leave him?" Ariadne spoke with a note of anguish. "Leave him to die?!"

"Ariadne, there is no evidence that he will-"

"Then you clearly don't know anything." Selina's voice was sharp. "Remember, I was planted in the middle of all of this. I've seen the plans, seen the scale of what they're intending. He will die. He will - unless we try and find him."

"But-" Eames stopped. Selina was facing him, directly.

"Do you want him to be a sacrifice?" Her voice was cold, hard. "My fiancee was here, finding out secrets and sending them back to the States. He's also disappeared. I have no doubt that they are in the same place."

"You think we will find them?"

"We have to." Selina turned her unflinching gaze on Cobb. "We owe it to the world to show what these people are doing."

* * *

"Try and sleep."

Arthur snorted. "I wish."

"Listen." Bruce turned to face him. "Its pointless. You can't lie there, thinking about what will happen. We are here, we're never leaving, unless its to where they want to take us. We cant escape, we can't run away."

"We're trapped." Arthur spoke, listlessly.

"We-"

Suddenly, a key grated in the lock, silencing both men. As the door opened, Arthur blinked as the light fell into the darkened space. Two men, both in uniform, were standing in the door. One of them walked over, grabbing Arthur roughly. As they haule him to his feet, the two soldiers started to laugh.

"_Dunne jude!" _One of them jeered. Shocked, Arthur allowed himself to be pulled out of the room. After a few moments, Bruce was thrown out after him.

_"Dunne jude!" _

Skinny Jew. Arthur's blood ran cold. He tried to protectively cover his body, but felt his arms being grabbed roughly. With a sharp push to the back, he was walked down the corridor, Bruce following him. Arthur grimaced - his arms were being held, and he felt, twisted. He grimaced, and without a further word from either soldier, was marched down the cold, grim corridor.

Arthur tried to keep his eyes forward. He was considering the options that were waiting at the end of the corridor - torture. Interrogation. Another few nights in the cell. He received a shock when he was pushed, blinking, into sunlight.

And, he realised, he was facing a parked truck. In it, several other men were crowded. Their grey skins, and slumped shoulders indicated they had also been imprisoned - but for longer. With a sharp poke to his back, Arthur got on, climbing up.

The men shifted slightly to make room for him, and he settled himself, he swallowed. No-one spoke. All he was wearing was his suit - which was crumpled, and filthy. Shivering slightly against the sharp air, he pulled the jacket around himself.

To his relief, Bruce was also climbing up. Arthur frowned - he could see the older man wincing slightly - clearly the result of a lack of nutrition and muscle wastage. Without hesitation, Arthur reached down to grab his hand. Bruce looked up, and nodded.

"Thank you."

With an air of finality, the little metal gate was pulled up, and the truck began to drive. As it took a sharp bend, Arthur felt his insides twist, and swallowed. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.

* * *

"We will have to find him." Cobb nodded. "And get him out."

"It won't be that simple."

Cobb looked at Eames. "Well, we'll have to try our hardest."

* * *

"Wake up!"

Arthur blinked. He had no idea how long he'd slept for - but his body felt frozen. Swallowing, and moving stiffly, he began to stretch. As he turned his head, his breath caught.

The truck was standing outside a pair of metal gates. Looking up, he realised with shock that they were electrified - and so was the rest of the surrounding fence. Trying to compose himself, he began to follow the other inhabitants of the truck down.

Suddenly, they were in a line. He caught a glimpse of words inscripted on the gates: "ARBEIT MACHT FREI".

Bruce, standing next to him, nodded.

"Welcome to Dachau."

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	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me.**

"Stand in line."

Shivering, Arthur walked to where the guard was pointing. Several grim faced uniformed men were walking around the newly assembled prisoners. He stood upright, keeping his eyes forward. Next to him, Bruce stood, adopting the same stance.

Arthur felt a surge of unreality. How had he - an educated man, an American - ended up here? He flicked his eyes round, taking in the whitewashed walls of the barracks, and the fence. The fence, he realised, was electrified. To stop anyone leaving.

Or those with intentions to rescue coming in.

He shivered. There was a bitter chill in the air, and as he stood, he could feel his muscles tensing. He then noticed the guards moving stealthily through the crowds. They were, he realised, holding whips.

"You...you...you..." the guards were moving through them, casually picking prisoners off and directing them to stand in different places. It reminded him of his Prep school, waiting to be picked for a sports team. Now it seemed a grotesque parody.

"You..."

Arthur swallowed. Bruce had been directed. He glanced at Arthur and began to walk to where he'd been placed. Arthur waited. The guard began to approach. He looked at Arthur with distaste.

"A Jew."

Arthur looked at him, his heart rate beginning to accelerate. For a moment, he imagined he was staring the possibility of death in the face. The guards's eyes narrowed.

"But healthy." He shrugged, as though deciding that as long as Arthur was alive, he may as well be put to use. "There." He pointed, and to Arthur's relief, was directing him to the same group Bruce was standing in. Arthur walked to them, realising he was shaking. Relief or fear? He could not tell.

Bruce nodded, barely perceptibly, as Arthur approached. Another guard, slightly younger, was casually tapping his whip against the men's legs, forcing them to line up. As Arthur did so, he felt the whip slap across his thigh - hard enough to sting. He winced, his face contorting.

"Don't cry out."

It was a soft murmur from Bruce, and Arthur swallowed, trying to control himself. He'd never been hit in his life - even as a child, he'd never felt physicality used as a chastisement from his parents. Now, he was being casually slapped by a complete stranger, and as he looked, realised the guard was throwing him a spiteful, malicious grin. "Jude!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Jude. Arthur felt the raw sting of humiliation. He was not a person to these people. Bruce was standing straight ahead. Suddenly, the line began to shuffle forward, moving towards a large, low building. Arthur blinked as the cold wind stung his face.

His mind suddenly drifted to Ariadne. At that point, he felt he would never see her again.

* * *

"Are you awake?"

Ariadne turned, blinking. Mal was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face creased in concern. The younger woman began to sit up, stretching. With a careful gesture, Mal turned, and lifted up a china cup and saucer from the small side table.

"Here."

Nodding her thanks, Ariadne took the cup, and took a sip. Tea. Hot, sweet, and comforting. Mal hesitated, then gently laid her hand on Ariadne's.

"We will find him."

Ariadne took another sip. The news that Arthur was most likely in one of the camps - the camps that were an open secret - had chilled her to the bones. She blinked, trying to remember the conversation that she had overheard.

"He'll never get out..."

"Cobb!"

"Eames, be a realist. He's as good as-"

"Stop it!" That had been Selina - her voice angry, forceful. "We will find him. If he's there, I suspect Bruce is there to. We will find them, because they could be the key to ending all of this. This insanity."

"But do you know who is in charge of Dachau?" Cobb's voice was almost sullen. "Theodore Eicke."

"Yes." Eames' voice sounded grim. "Chances are not good. But-"

Ariadne shook her head. She had tried to block out the rest of the conversation, tried to reassure herself that this was all a misunderstanding. But the faces and voices were convincing her otherwise. She knew it was a real.

Mal looked at her, watching her face. "Ariadne?"

"Yes?" Her voice came back to her.

"Please." Mal took her hand. "We will help him."

Ariadne nodded. But to find him, she realised, she had to play a part, too.

* * *

Arthur walked into the dark building. A couple of guards were sitting, looking at him dispassionately. Before he could speak, two others grabbed him, forcing him down into a chair. Shocked, he felt his head pulled back, and his mouth pulled open. Probing, intrusive fingers started to move inside, poking, demanding.

Feeling the breath catch in his throat, he thought he was going to choke. After an agonisingly long moment, the fingers were removed, and the guards shook their heads. Shaking, Arthur looked at the two men who faced him.

One began to speak. To his surprise, he spoke in English.

"Name."

Arthur swallowed. "Arthur Ogilvie."

"Nationality."

"American."

The guard took this without a flicker of surprise.

"You are a Jew?"

"Yes."

"The name of the whore that delivered you?"

Stunned, Arthur looked at him. The slur against his mother filled him with rage - rage so encompassing, he could not speak. The guard looked at him, and nodded. "Name of the whore? The whore that produced you? Another piece of filth that we need to wipe away?"

His voice faded to a whisper, Arthur croaked out "Sarah. Sarah Ogilvie."

The guard noted this down. He looked at Arthur. "You are American. But you are a Jew. And a spy."

Numb, not even attempting to defend himself, Arthur nodded. Suddenly, his arm was grabbed, and he was pulled from his seat. Not even attempting to defend himself, he was marched down a corridor.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**

**A/N: Did they speak to prisoners like that? Yes. In fact, the Nazis used language that was even more graphic. **


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

"Please tell me this is a sick joke."

Eames swallowed. Chris, his expression furious, was glaring at him. He shifted his feet. Coming to tell his American counterpart that the man hand picked for the role of researcher had been taken prisoner was not a thought he had relished. And now, staring into Chris' glacial eyes, he shuddered.

"It was..."

"A mistake?" Chris' voice dropped half an octave. "A mistake? Please. In this job, we can't afford to make mistakes." He bit his lip. "What happened?"

"He went to a cocktail party, under invitation from a man called Robert Fischer."

"Oh, yes. The name is very familiar." Chris shook his head. "Well, I think tomorrow we need to pay Mr Fischer a visit. Find out what happened. Because if Arthur is currently in that camp, then you, Cobb, his wife - you all need to leave. Because it won't be long before you're in there with him."

"But what about the plan?"

"Eames. Arthur was the whole plan." Chris smacked his knuckles into his palm. "He was perfect. A point, a cover. And now-" he swallowed. "I know that what's happening right now is the tip of the iceberg. The Nuremberg Laws, the persecution. But there is more -much more. And we needed to expose it, show the US and allies what is going on. But-"

"But what?"

"Without Arthur, we don't have a prayer."

* * *

Arthur felt himself being pushed in the back. Hard. He winced. Exhaustion and hunger were setting in. But he knew that here, there would be no respite from either.

He realised he was entering a room with tables. He heard a voice bark "stop!" and turned. Across from him was a young soldier. Unblinking, he pointed at Arthur. "Undress."

Arthur blinked, disbelieving. Undress? In this room? In front of everyone? He shook his head. "No," he said, calmly.

The soldier blinked back, his eyes widening. Then, out of nowhere, Arthur felt a sharp blow land across his back, the pain and force winding him. The soldier shook his head. "Undress."

Arthur, shaking, began to remove what was left of his suit. As he pulled off the ruined jacket and dirty dress shirt, he noticed the guard was pointing to the floor. He dropped them, then proceeded to remove the dress slacks.

To his shock, the guard was still shaking his head. Arthur suddenly realised - he also had to remove his underwear. As he pulled it away, he felt the cold air shock him. He was naked. Completely naked, in front of hostile eyes.

Without pausing, the soldier prodded him into walking. He fell into line with a group of prisoners, all of whom were keeping their eyes downcast. He continued to walk, into a large, sterile room.

On the floor, he noticed, was human hair.

Hair.

A sickening feeling began in his stomach. Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed, and pulled down. As harsh words were spat out, he felt the feeling of clippers running over his scalp. His hair was being removed, shaved.

Arthur felt himself caught by a choking wave of anger. How senseless, how dehumanising, to do this to him.

After a few moments, he tentatively reached up. The feel of his scalp, shorn clean, was a shock. He ran his fingers over it, gently, suddenly aware that this was how he was seen. Not as a person. But as a thing.

_I am not a thing. _

He was hauled up, roughly, and directed again. To a row of single sprinkler showers. As he was handed a bar of soap, he began to scrub at himself, relishing this brief opportunity to be clean.

After a few minutes, he noticed a pile of clothes lying under a bench. They were handed to him. As he pulled them on, he noted their shabbiness. They were striped, and fashioned like pyjamas.

He felt a wave of nausea. As he pulled them on, noting how they were slightly too small, pulling across his chest, he began to get back in line. As they shuffled back into the courtyard, and then across to the barracks, he realised that his former life - his real life - was in danger of becoming a distant memory.

**All reviews appreciated, thank you!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.**

Arthur lay on the bunk, trying to process the events of the last few hours. He had been a journalist - relatively successful, albeit with a modest salary - on an assignment, in Berlin. Now he was incarcerated in a prison, a prison filled with numerous other man, stripped of his clothes, his hair, his identity.

He swallowed. Could he get through this? And more importantly, did he want to?

He turned over, feeling the hardness of the poor excuse of a mattress. He shivered, and pulled his arms around himself.

"Arthur?"

He blinked, and rolled over. Bruce Wayne was standing next to the bunk. He had also been shaved - but also his face. He too was dressed in a striped uniform that was slightly too small - in fact, the buttons were pulling across the chest. He smiled ruefully. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Arthur stretched out, noting how little privacy he now had. The next set of bunks were barely three inches away from his. He looked at Bruce. "Are you-?"

"Going up on top." Without another word, the other man climbed up the frame. He began to settle, Arthur noting the creak of the wooden frame. He swallowed. Bruce was not an overly large man, but the frame was creaking. Arthur closed his eyes, hoping to pass into sleep. As he felt reality slip away, he began to breathe more peacefully.

* * *

Eames swallowed as he entered the cafe. He knew he would find him here. He had to speak to him, find out what had happened. He glanced round the room, taking in the appearances of everyone seated. After disregarding ten individuals, he noticed the person he wanted. Calmly, he strode over to him.

"Mr Fischer? Mr Robert Fischer?"

With an air of irritation, Fischer lowered his news paper. He surveyed Eames, his ice blue eyes taking in the other man's slightly dishevelled appearance. "Yes. And you are-?"

Eames smiled, tightly. "Mr Fischer. I believe you accompanied a friend of mine - Arthur Ogilvie - to a cocktail party a couple of days ago. A party at the Heaquarters."

Fischer frowned, lowering his brows. He then regained his composure, and shook his head. "I don't know who you mean," he said, finally, as though the topic was dismissed. He raised the paper again, and Eames promptly sat down.

"Oh, I think you do."

Fischer shrugged. "No, I don't." He turned. A waiter was approaching the table, with a plate. He smiled. "Thank you."

As he laid the newspaper aside, Eames realised he had been dismissed. Furious, he turned, stalking out.

* * *

Ariadne swallowed. Selina was dressed in a long waisted dress, her dark hair tied up. She nodded. "Yes, you look perfect."

"Selina." Ariadne looked at the other woman. "What are you- I mean-"

"We're going to get you into the HQ." Selina looked at her, nodding. "I need to introduce you to people. You'll be helping us - and this country, too."

"If it helps us find Arthur." Ariadne did not know what to think. Selina had suggested the previous night that she devise a cover for the Architect student, a way of infiltrating her into the Nazi head quarters. Ariadne had been uneasy, but now felt that if it helped her find the missing journalist, she would do it.

Following the older woman, she left the building. Selina's movements were graceful, as though she were a dancer. As they walked, Ariadne realised they were picking up attention from some of the men gathered round in the square. As they crossed to the S Bahn, she felt her hopes begin to lift. Finding Arthur - that was all that mattered.

* * *

"Are you awake?"

"Not yet."

"Well, come on!"

Arthur turned, smiling. Ariadne was lying next to him, gently tracing his chest. He leaned over, catching her palm. Taking it, he kissed it.

"If someone catches us..."

"I don't care if they do." He leaned over, almost falling on top of her. "I love you. I want to be with you. And when we get back to the States..."

Reaching up, she silenced him with a kiss. "Arthur-"

Suddenly, he heard a loud, ringing sound. He frowned. "Ariadne?"

Turning over, he realised she had disappeared. Shocked, he began to smooth his hands down the bed. "Ari? Ariadne!"

Suddenly, his eyes blinked awake. This was reality. The humid, stuffy air, foully scented, the result of a hundred bodies in various states of unwashed, forced together. He shook his head. This was not a nightmare.

This was hell.

"Arthur. We better move."

Bruce. Mechanically, he began to push himself off the bed, and rubbed his scalp - merely confirming that he was still missing part of his physical identity. He began to get up, and followed Bruce.

He suddenly realised his stomach was growling. When was the last time he ate? Shaking his head, he realised he could not remember. Following Bruce, they walked into a courtyard. He realised the men were standing in line, together.

Carefully, he moved to where he was directed. As he stood still, he noticed guards walking down the rows, pointing. Counting. Standing in the line, Arthur felt he was merely one of many, with nothing special left to distinguish him from the others. As the Nazi officers walked down the line, he stiffened.

Suddenly, one stopped, and looked at the man next to him. He was coughing, Arthur realised. Brutally, and deeply.

Arthur looked up. The officer shook his head, and before the journalist could blink, pulled out a gun. To Arthur's shock, he shot the other man, a bullet straight into the forehead. As he collapsed, Arthur could only hear the blood pounding in his ears.

The guard moved on.

Suddenly, Arthur realised he only had one job.

To stay alive.

**All reviews appreciated. Thank you!**


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. Short chapter - I needed to write something to move the story on, but didn't want to pad it out. **

Arthur waited until the guards had nodded. Then, mechanically, he followed the rest of the shuffling, downcast men into another low building.

He swallowed. Bruce was moving in front of him, slowly. Arthur was pacing himself, warily. As he turned his head, he felt something strike against his back. He blinked.

His back felt bruised - a side effect of lying on a rock hard, near paper thin mattress. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. As they moved forward, he realised he was entering a large, low hall. Swallowing, he joined a long line of men.

He blinked. The air was foul - a miasma of unwashed, unkempt bodies, and the stench of old food. As he progressed down the line, he looked at what was being offered. Someone thrust a small, square tin into his hands.

As he approached the line, he realised that it was food that was being offered. A thin, dark gruel was being ladled up, and poured mechanically into the tins the men held out. He watched as it splashed into the tin, threatening to knock the tin from his hand. He realised they were being ushered on.

His stomach growled. But as he looked down at the small can he was holding, he realised that this was all that was being offered. Biting his lip, he followed Bruce to the table.

* * *

Selina swallowed. Ariadne had entered the HQ - Selina charming the young guard that she was her younger sister, and merely interested in maybe a typing position. The guard had nodded.

Ariadne had watched, her breath baited. Selina Kyle was cunning, but at this present moment, Ariadne was thankful. As they walked across the marbled hallway towards the office doors, she felt her nervousness increase. Several uniformed men passed her, but they did not even glance their way.

Once inside the office, Selina gestured to a small desk. Ariadne seated herself, and Selina, confident that they could be overheard, began to speak, crisply in German.

"Anne! If you want to help, start by organising these files!" Selina shook her head. "I try and fix you with a summer job, and you-"

She broke off. Someone was entering the room, a tall man, clad in a crisp uniform. Ariadne felt herself shudder. He had curiously penetrating eyes, behind small, round glasses. He looked at Selina. "Fraulein?"

"Herr Himmler!" Selina immediately greeted him, smiling. "This is my younger sister - I need her to help with the filing."

Himmler nodded, his cool, assessing gaze sweeping over Ariadne. She felt a sudden chill - the man was looking at her, as though assessing her fitness for purpose. He nodded, slowly. "I see."

"Thank you."

Ariadne shuddered. As he turned and left, she felt a sudden wave of fear.

* * *

Arthur sat down with his small tin of watered gruel, and his stomach shuddered. Feeling a sudden wave of depression, he put his spoon in, and began to eat.

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	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Cobb was looking at the map intently. Eames leaned over, tracing with his finger. "Its about here."

Cobb looked up, irritated. "I see. But how are we going to get him out? We can't exactly go there."

"Well, maybe we could." Eames looked serious. "Undercover."

Cobb raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Eames smiled. "As newly recruited commandants, that's how!"

Cobb's jaw dropped. "You are not suggesting-"

"Yes." Eames nodded. "And then we smuggle him out."

"But that's-"

"Foolhardy? Yes." Eames' face was couched in serious lines. "But if we leave him there, he'll die. Or become an experiment for them. That's what they're doing. Trying to construct a master race...and using a few prisoners here and there."

Cobb's blood ran cold. "All right," he said, hoarsely. "I'm in."

"Good."

* * *

Arthur spooned up the last of the grey gruel. It had been tasteless, sliding down his throat and into his stomach, settling there like sediment. He choked slightly, and Bruce looked up.

"Careful," he whispered.

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Don't let them think you're sick." Bruce shook his head. "They might..." he lowered his voice. "You need to be healthy."

Arthur paused. There was an urgency to the other man's voice. He let the spoon clatter back into the tin. "Keep it," Bruce nodded. "I think if you don't have a tin, you don't eat."

Arthur nodded. He picked the tin up, and as the rest of the men got up, began to walk back to the bunks. It was a slow, deliberate shuffle - that of men who had no energy, were too exhausted to really push themselves faster. Arthur bit his lip. Despite the last few days, he still felt reasonably healthy..but for how long would that last? He tried to steady himself. Following the other men, he continued to shuffle forward.

He saw that they were going outside. Swallowing, he tried to mentally prepare himself for what could be coming next.

* * *

Ariadne carefully flicked through the files. Selina was looking at another. She was shaking her head.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," the other woman mumbled. "Except..." Casting a quick glance round, she took a piece of paper, folded it, and carefully tucked it inside her bra. She looked at her. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Don't we have to stay all day?"

Selina looked at her. "Lunch?"

Ariadne nodded. "All right."

The two women began to leave, Ariadne glancing over her shoulder.

* * *

Arthur walked outside. He noticed that two stern faced young officers were directing the men to stand in lines. He followed, feeling the uniform chafe against his skin. If they continued with the food they were offering, he idly thought it wouldn't be long before it fit him perfectly. The guard nodded at him, and pointed.

"You. There."

Arthur walked to the group he was shown to. It consisted of five other men, including Bruce. The guard walked to the front, and began to lead them. As they walked on, Arthur heard the sound of gunfire. Wincing, he focused on walking, not wanting to see what was being left behind.

He looked.

In front of them was a half finished building. Bricks, rubble, and other building materials were scattered around the hulk. Arthur looked at it, questioningly, then as he felt a prod of a gun barrel to his back, began to move forward.

"Build," the guard barked.

Arthur looked at him, incomprehensively. "What?"

"BUILD!" The guard snarled, striking him across the back. Blinking back tears of pain and anger, Arthur stumbled towards the site.

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	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.**

Arthur lay on his narrow bunk, not moving. His limbs felt exhausted, and every time he closed his eyes, he shuddered.

The day had consisted of moving bricks. For ten hours. By the end of the day, he barely registered the pain that was starting to flare up in his joints, and the deep ache in his muscles. He had carried, laid them down, walked back, and picked up - all with the mercilessly cold eyes of the guard watching him.

He'd stolen a glance at Bruce. The older man's face was stoic, but there was no denying a wince that passed over his face. The two men continued carrying the material, the guards watching, dispassionately. Until one of the other prisoners dropped a couple of bricks, causing them to shatter like glass over the pebble and rock strewn ground.

"You!" Arthur tensed, watching as one of the guards walked straight to the other man. "You stupid Jew!" before the prisoner could protest, he had slammed the butt of his rifle across the man's neck. Arthur swallowed, watching as the prisoner crumpled to the ground. He wanted to move forward, but as a shot rang out, realised that he could do nothing to help.

"Back to work!" the guard snarled, as two other prisoners began to move the limp body out of sight. Swallowing, Arthur turned back to his work, picking up the bricks, but taking extra care this time.

"Arthur?"

He blinked. Bruce was looking down at him. He shifted, his muscles, protesting against both the physical labour and dehydration, screamed at him. "You all right?"

Arthur grimaced. "As all right as I can be." He swallowed, and sighed. "What is it?"

Bruce blinked. "We need to get out of here."

"How?" Arthur felt a wave of despair washing over him. "We're trapped here."

Bruce shook his head. "No, we're not."

Astonished, Arthur looked at him. "How?"

* * *

Ariadne swallowed as she unpacked her bag. Mal and Cobb had insisted she move into their spare room, and she had not argued. She had checked out of the lodging house, not caring what the proprieter thought.

Now, she was upstairs, whilst Selina was talking to the Cobbs in the lounge. Part of her wished she could overhear, but decided the best tactic was to simply wait.

As she hung up a dress, her mind played back to the conversation she'd had with Selina at lunch. Plans. Plans to destroy a large swathe of humanity, and to experiment. The thought was making her shudder. Swallowing, fighting back rising bile, she focused on folding clothes.

* * *

"They want to do what?"

Cobb's voice was louder than Selina had expected. She raised a warning finger to her lips, and Mal nodded. Cobb steadied himself, lowering his voice. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Why would I lie?" Selina asked, simply.

Cobb shook his head. "We have to get him out of there. Eames had an idea."

Selina leaned back in her chair. "Then let's hear it."

* * *

"What do you mean?" Arthur whispered.

"There is a space-" Bruce had lowered his voice - "under one of the fences. Physically, we're still strong enough to leave. We can get through the camp, go under the fence- and hide in the woods."

Arthur swallowed. "And what then?"

"We try and find our way back."

"What if they come after us?"

"They'll let us go." Bruce's mouth twisted. "They'll guess we'll perish in the woods."

Arthur looked at him. Then nodded. "All right. Let's go."

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